Blood On My Name
by crimescenelover
Summary: After an enemy attack, Clint and Steve are left stranded, alone and hunted. But as the ploy unfolds, it becomes clear that this is a dangerous quest for revenge, tied directly to the events in Slovakia and to Clint's own past
1. When the Days Are Cold

**Title:** Blood on My Name

 **Summary:** After an enemy attack, Clint and Steve are left stranded, alone and hunted. But as the ploy unfolds, it becomes clear that this is a dangerous quest for revenge, tied directly to the events in Slovakia and to Clint's own past. Sequel to 'Of Bonds Forged in Fire'. It might be a good idea to skim through that one before reading this.

 **Chapter title:** When the Days Are Cold

 **Author's Note:** Hi! It's me again. I'm back with another and this time it's the sequel to "Of Bonds Forged in Fire" that no one asked for! No matter, I hope you will enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Chapter titles will be from "Demons" by Imagine Dragons.

Enjoy and please leave a review when you're done. That would be amazing!

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

" _True_ _redemption is seized when you accept the future consequences for your past mistakes."_

* * *

The clear blue sky was dotted with only a few puffy white clouds and allowed the sun to shine its warm, comforting beams down on the Bulgarian field and the small cabin that rested in the middle of it, surrounded on all sides by the thin-stemmed trees with high crowns littered with green leaves. A light breeze blew across the terrain, ruffling the high, delicate grass and softening the strength of the sun shining down.

It would have been a picture-perfect of serenity had it not been for the black Quinjet that had landed on the ground next to the cabin, its large back-hatch open and a large black box and smaller different items resting at the foot of the ramp. Steve hauled his duffel bag over his shoulder as he surveyed the calm area to make sure there were no enemy eyes watching them as they made ready for departure. He fixed his blue eyes on the entrance as Clint walked out with his own duffel bag slung behind his back while he carried the dark steel case that held his collapsible bow with his free hand.

"I'm gonna get the jet ready to fly," the archer said as he exited the cabin. "You finish up here on the ground?"

"You got it," Steve affirmed and stalked over to properly lock up the cabin they had stayed in for the past five days.

It was the first mission the super soldier had together with Barton since the whole Slovakia incident. It was now four months since they had been sold out by an inside mole to the arms dealer Andrej Novotny, which almost cost not only Clint his life, but also that of Natasha's and Steve's own trying to get out of the country. They had managed to locate the mole though and another, larger team had gone in to take down Novotny's cartel before they could do anymore damage in their area with their stolen alien weapons. George Stein, the mole that supplied the location of their safe house, was disavowed and jailed for treason and selling government secrets and Novotny would never hurt another soul. It was soon back to business in SHIELD and Steve had joined six solo missions with Natasha while Clint recovered from his wounds. The archer even managed to sneak in his own mission before being assigned to Steve again. By now, enough time had passed that the captain went from being a simple observer to a partner, which meant Clint hadn't been as begrudging about the whole idea of having Captain America along for company as before.

But it had been a simple job and the mission had only taken about five days to finish. The most action they had really seen was when Steve had had to grab a hold of Clint's collar as the archer nearly fell from a seven story building after placing his foot on a loose stone. Perhaps not the most adventurous, but Steve was glad to see not every mission turned out to be a fight for your life, though he did suspect Fury was perhaps being a bit too reluctant to hand out the tougher, longer assignments yet. But he figured it was only a matter of time before those were placed in his hands and they would soon come. So he enjoyed what he considered a small break from all the action for awhile, though he found himself slightly restless and itching for actual challenges. And he felt it in Barton too.

The archer hadn't supplied anything more from his past other than the short conversation they had had in his hospital room. Clint hadn't been willing to divulge anything more or acknowledged that they had even had that conversation in the first place and Steve hadn't brought it up again. He figured the SHIELD agent would open up in due time and when he finally did, the super soldier would be there to listen. But Steve had noticed that Clint seemed to have eased up slightly around him and relaxed more without keeping up his constant walls. He seemed more himself, like when he was with Natasha. And Steve was glad the archer was willing to show it to him.

Steve was jerked back to reality by the slight whoosh of the mechanical door that locked as he entered his code. He picked up his bag from where he had placed it on the ground and walked back to the Quinjet. Its engines were slowly starting up as the slim jet prepared to fly. Steve carried the rest of their belongings up the smooth ramp and into the cargo hold. He dumped it off to the side where Clint had dropped his things, except for his bow case, which rested just behind the pilot's chair, within easy reach. Steve was careful not to bump it with his foot as he stood behind Clint, who was pushing various buttons on the control board in front of him, preparing take-off.

"We ready?" Clint asked, as he pushed one button and the ramp started to lift from the ground to close. "Because it's too late now."

He grabbed a hold of the control handles and soon the whole jet seemed to vibrate with energy and a soft hum filled the cabin as the jet slowly lifted and blew the grass below into a frenzy. Then they were airborne.

The field with the cabin grew smaller and smaller the higher they rose until soon it was only a dark speck against a sea of green and the Quinjet flew across the Bulgarian landscape as stealthy as a panther.

* * *

They had only been in the air less than an hour before trouble arose. They had just passed Greece when the sudden beeping tore Steve out of his thoughts as he sat in one of the seats in the cabin, drawing mindlessly on a sketch of the Bulgarian cabin in the field.

He immediately abandoned his project to stand next to the pilot's chair, where Clint sat and stared at his controls with a light frown creasing his eyebrows.

"What's going on?" Steve inquired, while he gazed out into the calm blue sky in front of them.

"We have incoming," Clint stated suspiciously and pointed at the radar, where a small object was drawing nearer their position.

"What is it?"

"I don't know."

"Enemy hostiles, perhaps?" Steve guessed, though he couldn't determine how they found them or who they actually were. They left no loose strings behind in Bulgaria, at least no one that could scramble a flying counter attack this fast.

Clint didn't answer at first. His observant eyes switched from searching the sky around them to the flickering dot on the radar and the small red alarm that flashed next to it. Then they widened as understanding dawned on the archer.

"That isn't a plane. Cap, strap yourself in now!" Clint was quick to order as his hands tightened around the handles so tightly his knuckles whitened.

Steve didn't need to be told twice and he hastily made his way back to the nearest seat. As he fumbled with getting the tight security straps to work, he asked, "What is it?"

He feared he already knew the answer by Clint's alarmed tone, but before the archer could answer, his fears were confirmed. A large explosion shook the entire cabin violently and with such force Steve was pulled from his seat, the seatbelt not yet buckled, and slung to the other side of the cabin where he collided hard to the steel floor. Clint got jerked in his seat so hard it sent his headphones flying away from his face and he felt something in his back snap at the impact.

"Cap!" he yelled as he saw the Captain fly through the cabin out of his peripheral vision.

Dazed, Steve managed to crawl onto the seat by heaving himself up by the seatbelts and with shaking hands he managed to secure himself, while Clint struggled to keep control over the jet. Out of the windows, he spotted the orange flicker of flames on the right side and quickly looking back, he saw the bright blue hue of the sky. Red and yellow lights were blinking and flashing their colors and alarms screamed loudly in his ears as the Quinjet swiftly descended from their position in the sky. Everything rumbled and shook and the wind tore violently away inside the jet through the large hole blown into it.

Clint desperately put on his headphones again while he yelled their mayday into the SOS frequency and prayed somebody would listen and the blast hadn't destroyed their only hope. They were falling fast and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. The only hope he had was that they had just managed to clear the small ocean between Greece's mainland and the island Corfu was just underneath. He tried his best to aim for the spot most likely not to tear them to shreds upon impact, but Corfu was all hill slopes and mountains, which made it practically impossible. A large rocky mountain appeared in front of the jet and Clint pulled with all his might on the steering handles to avoid the jagged edges. What remained of the right wing narrowly scraped past the rock but by then it was already too late. The ground was too close and Clint, knowing it was too late, pulled the handles back in one final attempt to rescue the aircraft.

Then the Quinjet connected hard with the ground, Clint yelled out a curse and then everything faded to black.

 **TBC**


	2. When Your Dreams All Fail

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Chapter title** : When Your Dreams All Fail

 **Author's Note** : This one is slightly shorter but after that I promise the action will pick up! So if you will be so kind to leave a review when you're done reading, if there's something that bothers you or something you even like, that would be awesome! :)

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

Fire.

Something was on fire.

That was the first thing Clint became aware of when he regained consciousness. His nose easily detected the strong smell of burning mixed with the acrid stench of gasoline, only adding fuel to the fire. He could hear the small flames flickering and crackling in the distance. That and the far quips of small birds, flying around in the sky, were the only noises he could hear over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears and his heart pumping away madly.

Then he felt his aching body. Every inch of him hurt. Most prudent however, was his left shoulder that throbbed in time with his beating heart and his neck was stiff like he had been sleeping in a wrong position through the night. His head seemed to be reeling and spinning rapidly around in circles accompanied by a heavy pounding behind his eyes. If his eyelids hadn't weighted a ton, he still wasn't sure if he wanted to open them.

But when his memories returned to assault his mind, he knew he had to. He blinked open his eyes slowly. The blurred colors melted together before him as the Quinjet's cockpit came into focus. The windshield was cracked, allowing some of the green vegetation outside to peek inside. It was only then Clint realized that he was leaned sideways to the left as the jet seemed to have tilted upon the crash. The archer tried to move his left arm to release himself from the pilot seat, but the second he moved it a sharp pain shot from his shoulder all the way down his arm and into his fingertips. Dislocated shoulder, no doubt. With his teeth gritted, he moved his right arm instead and his bloody fingers fumbled clumsily with the smooth buckle. It came free with a snap and Clint pummeled to the cockpit side. His side collided heavily with the control board and the glass from the windshield that lay scattered on the ground dug into his skin. His left shoulder became alight with fire as it took the brunt of the fall and Clint grunted heavily with the pain, biting his tongue so he didn't cry out.

Black spots danced in front of his vision and for a minute he had to lay there to get his breathing under control. Gingerly, he lifted himself up from the ground, mindful of the thick glass pieces all around him. He used the steel wall to support his weight as he heaved himself up and standing. He almost collapsed right back down when his side screamed as he straightened up. He looked down and saw a large piece of windshield stuck in his side, blood pooling around the clear, thick glass to coat the top of his trousers. He didn't know if it had happened in the crash or on his ungraceful descent to the floor. Sighing heavily, Clint didn't waste any time before he wrapped his fingers around the sharp edges and without hesitation he pulled it out. He dropped it on the destroyed ground of the jet, not giving it a second thought. He hadn't been the only one on board.

He needed to find Steve.

He turned his attention towards the wreckage in the back. There was a large gaping hole from where the missile had hit the jet. Warm sunlight filtered in through it and Clint had to squint his eyes at the bright light. The explosion had torn away a good chunk of the fuselage's right side and had completely ripped off the ramp. It had taken out the right engine too, which Clint concluded was the main reason they had crashed down instead of doing an emergency landing like he had tried to. Along that particular engine sat some of the wires connected to the control board by the pilot's chair, which was why the archer hadn't been able to keep the jet steady enough in the air. The wires were so well-hidden and deep inside the fuselage of the Quinjet it would take dumb luck to actually hit them properly unless the missile had packed some serious firepower. And since the jet was still largely in one piece, that hadn't been the case. If it hadn't been just a lucky shot, it worried Clint greatly that their enemy would be that well-connected to know exactly where to hit and with how much force. But right now, that was a concern for later.

Clint held his dislocated left arm tight to his body with his right, as he ducked under a few fallen wires hanging from the broken ceiling and into the war zone that was the back.

"Cap!" he called out, ignoring the raspy sound of his voice. He looked to the last place he had seen the super soldier. The chair's seatbelts were torn and the straps were practically pulled out of the sockets.

"Rogers!" Clint called again, this time a little louder. It concerned him that there was no response. Out of the two of them, he had hoped the one with accelerated healing would be up and about first. The wreckage moaned loudly and the remainder of the jet tilted ever so slightly to the side, making the archer struggle to keep his footing. And in that split second he supported himself against the fuselage, he saw Steve.

The soldier had been lying all the way in the back at the gaping wound. The man must have been balancing on a knife's edge and just as the jet had moved the small fraction, he overbalanced. The last Clint saw was the black of Captain America's boots as he limply sailed overboard.

Clint threw himself after him, but he wasn't fast enough. With a heart racing in fear, the archer got to his feet and peeked over the edge and for the first time he could actually see how they had landed. The jet sat almost perched on top a large hillside with a beige rock formation supporting the right side. The nose had been solidly planted in the ground and the right wing had been smashed up against the large rock wall. What would have been the butt end of the Quinjet, with the ramp, was dangling precariously over the deep fall where a great river occupied the bottom. Clint could see the white foam circle where Steve had hit the surface.

He backed up a few steps from the drop. With light fingers, he placed his right hand on his left shoulder and with a practiced motion he popped the sore joint back into place. He cringed at the loud cracking sound and the sharp pain that followed, but he had handled dislocations before and knew he could ignore it.

Then he moved before he could rethink his decision. He didn't hesitate.

He jumped in after him.

 **TBC**


	3. Don't Wanna Let You Down

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Summary** : An enemy attack leaves Clint and Steve stranded and alone. But as the ploy unfolds, the two agents realize it is tied directly to the events in Slovakia and to Clint's own past. Sequel to 'Of Bonds Forged in Fire'. It might be a good idea to skim through that one before reading this.

 **Chapter title** : Don't Wanna Let You Down

 **Author's Note** : Next chapter's up. Would be lovely if you could leave a review to let me know what you think about it.

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

Clint knew it had been a stupid decision the second he felt himself falling and saw the world tipping and spinning around him through blurred vision.

The blue sky blurred as he tumbled downwards. His heart jumped to his throat. His eyes watered as the gushing wind was whipping his face and the fabric of his clothes flapped as it tore at his skin. He felt no pain and no fear, only the feel of the rush of air that slammed against him as he cut through it. He hung, weightless, suspended in the air and it felt like he was falling forever.

Then he hit the water surface with a large splash. His body slammed through like he had run through a wall and the air was forced out of his lungs. The little supply of air he still maintained was instantly sucked out when he felt the chill water bite into his skin, much the same way the wind had done only milliseconds before. Unwillingly he gasped out in shock and the river water immediately entered his mouth. He choked desperately and could not get it out again and only succeeded in inhaling more water. Fear grabbed a hold of him and along with it came clarity. He needed to move.

Clint began moving his arms and his legs until he was propelled upwards. Gasping, he broke the surface and coughed up the water he had just swallowed. He felt his body being moved by the currents and the strong water masses tore at his battered body and it was only now he remembered and _felt_ his injuries. The assaulting pain almost made him black out then and there and he felt blood oozing out into the water. A pink tint began to spread around him and for a short second he wondered if any predators lurked in the depths of the water but quickly dismissed the thought. He had bigger problems. And his beaten body wasn't the only thing he remembered.

The reason he went in the first place.

He wasn't alone.

 _Steve_.

Fear set in and he looked through the rapid white foaming waves of the river for the captain.

"Cap!" he called. But his yell was deafened by the roar of the raging water. His fear increased as more time passed and he could find no sign of the super soldier. However soon he spotted a dark figure floating a few feet away.

Clint had no doubt. He began swimming towards the figure and let the current carry him the extra distance. All of his hurts disappeared and he had only one goal. Get to Steve.

When he got close enough, Clint saw that Steve was unconscious and he had a heavily bleeding head, but aside from that the archer spotted no obvious injuries, but in the rapid stream it was hard to tell. Barton took a hold of Steve's dark blue suit and did his best to keep his lolling head above water. Together they were carried further and further downstream. The trees on the west bank rushed by in a blur as their speed gained. Water clogged in Clint's throat and burned in his eyes. Though through a hazed vision he saw what they were approaching and his eyes widened. Before them several large, jugged, rocks penetrated the surface. Clint began to struggle against the current in a desperate attempt to avoid the stones, but when that proved pointless he instead tried to maneuver among the rocks to avoid collision. However the strong current and Steve's limp body hindered his movements greatly.

 _Now would be a great time to wake up, Rogers_.

But Steve didn't listen. He remained unresponsive in his arms and the archer feared for how serious the injury on his head truly was.

Clint moved his eyes from his friend and focused on the main problem. How they managed not to hit every single one of the pointed rocks, Clint would never know. He only thanked whoever the hell was listening that they hadn't. They had only slightly been bounced around by the undercurrents around the rocks. Until they had almost cleared the passage when the archer's eyes spotted the large rock protruding from the water like a mountain shooting up from the ground. It didn't take long for Clint to realize the inevitable. The current was too strong and the water moving too fast.

They would hit it.

They were rushing directly towards it and Clint knew they didn't have the time to move around it. So with a great tuck on Steve's clothes, he pulled the larger man closer to his own body. He wrapped both his arms around his broad torso and used his legs to do a struggling turn so their positions changed, his wound burning with the exertion.

A small second later and he felt the impact against the hard stone. He grunted heavily when his back collided with the rock and the sharp edges rubbed against his skin. The force of it almost made him let go of his precious cargo. The current held them both there for a minute until a heavy wave of white foaming water splashed against them and send the two Avengers spinning away and downstream again. A small bubble of relief filled the fatigued archer. At least they had cleared the rocks without any serious injury.

But the bubble of relief soon burst.

Clint felt his own strength slowly seeping away along with his body heat the longer they stayed afloat. He knew he had to get to the shore or they would both drown. Luckily it seemed as though the current had eased up slightly after the rock formations, it would be easier to swim against it now than before.

The archer summoned as much of his remaining strength as he could muster and with one hand tightly entangled in Steve's clothes so not to accidently loose his grip, he began paddling towards the west bank. Each stroke proved more and more excruciating and the riverbank seemed no closer than when he first began. He could barely keep his own head above water and as he slowly began to go under, he dragged Steve right down with him. He tilted his head back to get one final gasp of air when he could no longer hold both of them up. Clint could hold his breath for a long time. He had had a lot of practice over the years, but his already tired body could not hold the oxygen for long and soon he felt the desperation of his screaming lungs. Just as he began wondering if this was actually it, his flailing feet touched solid ground. Only a step later he was able to breathe above water again. He gasped in utter relief and steadily he walked on the small pebbles towards his goal. The shore. The current still tucked and pulled at his feet and several times he almost lost his footing. But he stubbornly maintained his balance and soon the water level fell around them and the rapid water streams released its heavy grip. But as the water line sank around him, the limp form of Captain America grew heavier.

Soon the water only reached his ankles. His legs were shaking violently from both the chill of the cool water and the strain of carrying the bulky super soldier. He never got them completely away from the water. With the water still tickling his boots, Clint's knees buckled and the archer collapsed onto the stony surface gracelessly, Steve falling out of his grasp and rolling next to him.

With his body completely spent and his chest heaving, Clint just laid there. Dirt pebbles from the river and the shore clung to his cheeks but he didn't have the energy to brush it away. He didn't really give a damn about it either. Everything around him was dark and he couldn't focus or think of anything but his starving lungs and his racing heart. Everything else had faded to the back of his mind and nothing mattered except lying there, breathing heavily.

Reality only struck him when he finally managed to open his eyes. He didn't know how many hours had passed, if any. He had lost the grip of time and he feared it might end up costing them. They had to get out of there and Clint could only hope that his human weakness hadn't just made it possible for whoever shot them down to find them and finish the job. It would certainly be laughably easy at the moment.

The archer gingerly raised his exhausted body from the ground, gritting his teeth at the hurt that seemed to radiate from his very core. But he didn't have the time to care for himself at the moment. Instead he turned his head to Steve.

The soldier seemed hardly fazed at the little drowning adventure he had just taken part of. Steve was still lying limply on the ground where Clint had dropped him. His eyes were closed and his chest was moving up and down in a fast but steady rhythm. Water tickled down his chin from the corners of his mouth, so he had coughed up any he had swallowed. Clint was glad he didn't have to force it out of him. He then moved to the head wound. He gently turned the soldier's head so he could inspect it. The river had washed away a lot of the blood, which made his inspection a little easier. It still bled but not as much as it had and it didn't seem life threatening. But as Clint had found, he could determine nothing until Steve woke up. He could still have brain damage and bleeding internally without the archer knowing a thing about it. And he couldn't prevent it from happening either. It concerned him that Steve hadn't opened his eyes yet or regained consciousness at all. Aside from the small grunts he had heard in the river, there had been no sign of waking. But if anyone could survive it, it would be Steve. Of that Clint was certain, so he tried to keep optimistic.

He continued his inspection and found not many more injuries that he could deal with. A piece of rebar had pierced through Steve's right arm and Clint had debated with himself whether to pull it out or leave it in. But not knowing how long they would be stuck out here and how far proper medical attention was, Clint decided the risk of infection with the piece staying in was higher than any damage he could cause by pulling it out. After all he had done the same with the glass in his side. With a great tug and an apologetic wince on his features, he pulled the rebar out with a great heave and cast it aside carelessly. Clint took off his vest and then his black undershirt and started ripping it to pieces. He soaked some of them in the water and cleaned both wounds on Steve's body the best he could. The largest strip he tied tightly around the soldier's arm to stop the bleeding and prayed it would be enough. The rest of the injuries he could do nothing about. There were only bruises and cuts and those would heal quickly on the super soldier, even the seemingly massive cut that decorated most of Steve's upper chest. Clint shrugged his vest back on, twitching slightly at the clammy feel of the leather against his bare skin. All the way through he ignored the violent way his hands kept shaking.

Seeing as there was no more he could do, Clint turned his grey eyes to their surroundings. The river had taken them a little further down the sharp hills that dominated Corfu but from the vantage point Clint could see they were still high up. Just a few feet away from them the stones gave way to soft earth and high, thin trees shot up from the ground. Just in the distance and between the trunks the archer could make out the grey color of an un-built house.

There were a lot of those on the small island. Almost everywhere you looked there were abandoned buildings, only consisting of grey cement flooring and the supporting cement pillars that would have held up the house. Dull, grey and abandoned they stood everywhere. In the cities, on the side of the road and littered around on the hills. No one went there, which made it the perfect hiding spot and Clint was happy that one of those buildings existed so close to them.

Clint looked down at Steve again. Captain America was no small man and definitely not a light one. This wasn't going to be easy. He inhaled deeply before bending down and grapping a hold of Steve's uninjured arm and moved it over his shoulder and held it there with one hand. The other hauled Steve's leg over the other shoulder and then with a grunt he lifted the super soldier up in a fireman's carry as gently as he could. He adjusted his grip slightly. With his jaw tightly set, he began walking towards his intended target.

The walk took slightly longer than expected. It was only pure determination and stubbornness that kept Clint upright the last steps as the grey abandoned structure appeared in front of him. He was panting heavily and sweat glistened on his forehead when his foot hit the cement. He was only glad it was almost winter now, so the sun wasn't mercilessly shining down on his head. He winced apologetically when he dropped the soldier rougher to the ground then he had intended. Clint dropped to his knees and did his best to make Steve as comfortable as possible.

Then the archer sagged down next to him, completely spent, hurting and exhausted.

He knew he had to see to his own wounds.

He knew he had to keep watch over Steve's unconscious body.

But he did none of it.

 **TBC**


	4. There's Nowhere We Can Hide

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Summary:** An enemy attack leaves Clint and Steve stranded and alone. But as the ploy unfolds, the two agents realize it is tied directly to the events in Slovakia and to Clint's own past. Sequel to 'Of Bonds Forged in Fire'. It might be a good idea to skim through that one before reading this.

 **Chapter title** : There's Nowhere We Can Hide

 **Author's Note** : So sorry it took me awhile to post this next chapter. I am wickedly busy these days, but I will do my best to get the next one up earlier. I promise! Anyways, enjoy this one, a bit shorter, but hopefully just as intriguing. And please do review, when you're done. Then I'll know if anyone is still reading this and want more :)

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

Steve woke with a headache so intense he thought his head would actually split open right then and there.

For a while it was the only thing he could focus on. The relentless pounding ricocheted around in his skull, rendering his mind completely useless. For a second he wanted nothing more than to go back to the comforting darkness he had come from and just stay there until his headache let him be and he could actually _think_ for more than a fraction of a sentence. But there was something nagging in the back of his mind that refused to let him simply drift off.

His body felt stiff and sore and he could feel himself lying on a cold, hard surface. Aside from the throbbing of his head, his right bicep felt tight and aching even more than the rest of him. Vaguely Steve could discern the sting of several cuts all around his body along with several bruises that would take at least half a day to heal, even with the serum coursing through his veins. It was only then he remembered.

Flashing images of the plane crash flashed in front of his inner eye and immediately he remembered everything. A quick flash of clear water streaming over his face also came to him, although for the life of him he couldn't decipher the memory. It did however explain the dampness in his clothes and hair. He also remembered that he wasn't the only one who had been aboard that Quinjet.

That thought caused Steve to snap open his eyes.

It proved to be a huge mistake as the world he woke up to tipped and spun even though he hadn't even twitched a muscle. He had to pinch them shut shortly after to prevent him from giving in to the nausea that rolled around in his stomach. Steeling himself with a deep breath, Steve tried again. Very slowly, he blinked his blue eyes open and steadily the world began to drift into focus.

The first thing he saw was grey and at first he thought the sky had fallen down. The dull grey color stretched out in front of him like a low-hanging stormy sky. Only later than he was supposed to, did it dawn on him that he was staring up at a cement ceiling and gingerly he tilted his head to the side. First he saw the same color cement floor stretching out before him, thick square pillars supporting the ceiling in the corners, tall grass sticking up by its end and long, thin trees that lost more of their height the further down the hill they were planted. The sky behind was painted in a deep pink and orange color from the setting sun.

The second thing he spotted was the black-clad figure lying next to him, back turned.

"Barton," Steve whispered and rose to sit. The world tipped again and the soldier had to wait a short second before everything stopped spinning. He told his tight throat and rolling stomach to knock it off. He didn't have time to be sick now.

He turned Clint over to his back. The archer rolled limply around and his head lolled on his shoulders. His complexion was pale, which made the small cut on his eyebrow shine a bright red. Like Steve's own body, Clint's were littered with small cuts, the worst one on his stomach having bled through his vest, covering the black and purple fabric with red. A deep purpling bruise covered most of his left shoulder, indicating a dislocation, but the joint seemed to have been popped back into its socket already. His chest moved up and down in a deep steady rhythm. Had it not been for the color of his skin and his injuries, he looked like he might have been sleeping peacefully.

Steve gently shook him, mindful of the archer's normal instincts when being touched.

"Barton," he called out to rouse the man.

But there was no response. He shook him a little harder and was rewarded with a slight groan.

"Barton," Steve tried again. "Clint."

The archer rolled his head slowly from side to side, grunting every once in awhile as he was slowly coming to. Then to Steve's relief, he blinked open his eyes with what seemed like a great effort. Clint's grey orbs seemed to drift around to take in his surroundings until they landed on the super soldier, kneeling and leaned over his face.

Apparent relief crossed his features at seeing the Captain up and awake. At first Steve was confused about the look, but it was only when he looked at their surroundings again he realized that they were in an abandoned construction and there was no Quinjet in sight. He must have been out longer than he had first thought, if Clint had managed to drag him in here, although he couldn't for the life of him remember what had transpired since the crash.

"Cap, you're making me uncomfortable," Clint's rough voice dragged him back to the moment. He was still leaning over Barton's body, staring at his face.

"Yeah, sorry," he quickly mumbled before leaning back on his heels to give the archer some breathing space. Barton nodded his thanks as he slowly eased himself into a sitting position, his arm wrapped protectively around his bleeding midsection and his face contorted in a pained grimace. With a quick glance around, he started dragging himself towards one of the supporting pillars a few feet away. It wasn't far but the progress took longer than it really should and Clint's face had lost a shade by the time he finally leaned up against the cement with a heavy grunt.

Steve had watched it all with a sympathetic frown but didn't offer his assistance. He knew the archer well enough now to know he wouldn't take the help. Just as stubborn as the rest of the team. The soldier cleared his throat a single time before asking what was burning on the tip of his tongue.

"So what exactly happened after the crash? How did we end up here?"

"The Quinjet crashed further upstream on one of the hills above the river. You fell in the water and I jumped in after you. I think the rapids must have carried us one or two miles before we got out, but I can't be certain," Clint nonchalantly explained like he was giving a normal report.

Steve suspected it had been far from that simple, given the fact that he had found the archer passed out, presumably from exhaustion and blood loss. How the man had managed to actually do it, Steve could only guess but he could feel the gratitude burbling in his chest in knowing Barton had went in after him without a second thought.

He caught Clint's tired eyes with his own. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Clint only mumbled and leaned head back against the pillars and closed his eyes.

* * *

What little remained of the day Steve used to find wood for a small fire and bandage Clint's wounds.

The stomach laceration wasn't quite as bad as Steve had feared. It was still deep and rough around the edges, but the bleeding had stopped fairly easy. But the real challenge was keeping it clean until they could get to sterile proper medical attention. It was nothing compared to the knife wound from Slovakia but it would still leave a scar to match the fresh one from that ordeal. The rest he couldn't do much about; the dislocated shoulder Clint had already sat and he refused to wear a sling to keep it that way and aside from a massive black and purple bruise on the archer's back, which Clint refused to share how had gotten there, there wasn't anything else Steve could do.

He turned his attention towards his own injuries shortly after, but his arm was the only thing that really bothered him. The bruises and scrapes he had gotten were already well on their way towards healing, much to Clint's open resentment. His right arm on the other hand were still stiff and every time he moved it he could feel the tender healing flesh pulling and throbbing, but he had no doubt it too would heal within the next couple of days. His headache had eased off slightly during the two hours that had passed, so black spots no longer danced before his eyes whenever he moved too fast.

Twilight came quickly and the deep darkness of night followed close by. Soon the sky was completely black, contrasted by the bright small lights of the million stars plastered on it and a crescent moon shining down on the hilltops of the small Greek island. Flames were crackling softly, painting the two faces that stared at it a warm orange, each lost in their own thoughts.

"So what's the plan?" Steve was the first to break the silence.

"Make for the Quinjet," Clint replied without tearing his gaze away from the fire.

"That could be crawling with hostiles by the time we get there. I know your bow is still on board, but it's not worth getting captured for. We've been compromised. We should head for the nearest SHIELD compound and go from there," Steve argued. A crashed plane was the first place whoever had shot them down would look to finish the job.

"It's flattering to know you believe I would risk my life just to get my bow back, Cap, it really is. But as much as it disgusts me to see it end up in the wrong hands, it is not the main reason for doubling back there," Clint said with a light smile. "SHIELD Quinjets have a tracking system that enables us to track foreign objects the moment they reach the radar. If the hard drive isn't fried we should be able to find where the missiles originated from."

Steve let out a grunted laugh and shook his head. "Sometimes I forget I skipped a few years in the technology department."

"Don't sweat it," Clint shrugged and then gestured towards the burning pile of wood in the middle of them. "We still have this familiar relic."

"It was 1945, not the stone age."

"Whatever you say, Grandpa."

 **TBC**


	5. I Wanna Hide the Truth

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Summary** : An enemy attack leaves Clint and Steve stranded and alone. But as the ploy unfolds, the two agents realize it is tied directly to the events in Slovakia and to Clint's own past. Sequel to 'Of Bonds Forged in Fire'. It might be a good idea to skim through that one before reading this.

 **Chapter title** : I Wanna Hide the Truth

 **Author's Note** : I will be honest with you. I completely forgot about this story, which is why I haven't updated in like forever or however long it's been. I have had homework, exams, working hours, so I've been completely wiped out as of late. BUT! I'm not dead yet! So here's another chapter for anyone who still cares.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

The midday sun was shining down on their backs by the time Steve and Clint left the structure.

Luckily, it was the end of September so the hot summer temperatures were on their way down and cooling winds from the sea that surrounded Corfu blew across their faces, gently brushing away the sweat shining on their glistening foreheads. Clint was breathing heavily as they trekked through the high grass and up the hillside towards the destroyed Quinjet. His side throbbed alongside his heart and the chilled heat was beating down on his head despite how hard they tried to stay in the shade of the trees and abandoned houses and apartment complexes they encountered. He could see Steve still felt the headache that came with a heavy concussion, although he was faring much better than he had hoped, never once stumbling or shaking his head clear.

The way down the river had taken them further than Clint had anticipated, and it was well into the afternoon before they spotted the wreckage.

Cautiously, they neared it by sneaking through the trees and hiding in the high grass, in case any strangers were already lurking around and waiting for them to arrive. It proved to be futile as there was not a soul in sight once they got near enough. Only the light chirping of birds and crickets hiding in the grass reached their ears. It was almost peaceful.

The jet was still lying smashed up against the steep rock side with the river rushing by below the cliff. Bits and pieces of black metal from the Quinjet lay scattered in the grass all around the crash site. Clint kicked in the leftovers of the cracked windshield when they got to the wreckage and entered through there while Steve stayed outside, standing guard.

Much to Clint's relief, he found his case containing his bow intact near the pilot's chair and Steve's shield a little further in. It wasn't hard to spot the bright colored vibranium shining in the low light that filtered in through the large hole in the back. First he began gathering what he could find of supplies that hadn't disappeared when they went down. It wasn't much, but there were some water bottles, which were all empty, a few medical supplies and three handguns along with some ammunition and Clint's quiver, which surprisingly was still working and stocked with a solid ten arrows. He stuffed as much as he could in one of the duffel bags and handed it to Rogers through the windshield.

Next he crouched down by the cockpit and fiddled with the broken controls. He tapped a few in an attempt to determine how much worked and what was broken. The GPS tracker seemed busted, but Clint managed to get the screen attached to it working by playing with a few wires. He punched a few buttons on the split touch screen, which was slow to react and he cursed out loud when the screen flickered and blinked instead of showing what he needed. It earned him a raised eyebrow from the super soldier right outside, but Clint simply ignored the look.

He smiled triumphantly when the screen finally flashed and came to life again with a location; the origin point of the missiles.

"Shit …" Clint' eyes widened as he easily recognized it. He felt his heart skip a beat in his chest and he felt the all too familiar despair wash over him. It all made perfect sense. How the Quinjet's location in the sky was found, the precise hit of the missile and where it came from. This just got turned completely upside down and Clint feared what would come next. He especially feared what would happen when everyone else found out, in particular the Boy Scout standing only two feet away from him.

Before he could even think about how he could explain this to Steve, the soldier beat him to it as he peeked through the shattered window, a look of urgency across his face.

"We have company!"

And true enough from down the hillside several men emerged, all carrying rifles and black military helmets. They moved like one massive shade creeping slowly out from the trees with their weapons aimed out in front of them. Clint quickly squeezed his way through the windshield hole and with practiced speed he strapped his quiver onto his back. He took out his bow from his case and with a quick flick of his wrist the bow came open with a snap.

A quick glance to the left and Clint saw Steve had already placed his shield placed upon his arm and had taken one of the guns from the duffel bag. Clint did a quick sweep of their surroundings and found every exit blocked by the armed men that sneaked closer to them with cautious steps. A second later, they opened fire.

Their rifles popped loudly as the bullets left the chambers at rapid speeds and they impaled themselves on the ground by Clint's feet. He immediately felt Steve's hand grip his arm hard and drag him back through windshield space and into the Quinjet's interior, his head banging against the metal in the rush. The bullets pinged off the fuselage as the attackers unloaded their clips, hoping to get lucky and hit human flesh, although none of the bullets actually made it inside the jet. Both Clint and Steve returned a few of them with an attack of their own and three men fell, two of them with arrow shafts protruding from their throats.

The shooting carried on like that for awhile. Both SHIELD agents managed to keep the hostiles from getting nearer the Quinjet, but were forced to stay rooted in place as there was nowhere to run to. Clint decided early on that he should save his arrows and switched to one of the hand guns instead. He fired off another three rounds before return fire forced him to hide in the Quinjet again. Steve kneeled right beside him, breathing just as heavily as he was. The sun had been cooking down on the black hull and heated the inside greatly during the day, so even as the sun was beginning to reach the horizon now it was hot inside the jet and sweat made their clothes stick uncomfortably to the skin.

"If we stay here much longer, we either get cooked or catch a bullet," Steve breathed as he surveyed their situation.

Clint could only nod his agreement, but couldn't keep a snarky remark from leaving his mouth. "I don't know if you've noticed the gun-crazies out there, but they're kinda inconveniencing that idea."

"We can't stay here. We'll be overrun," Steve argued while he shot the archer a sharp look. Then his eyes drifted to the gaping hole right behind them. The loud sound of foaming, rushing water easily reached their ears despite the gunfire coming from the other side.

Clint followed his line of sight and shuddered at the prospect of taking another dive so soon after the first one. It was a miracle the both of them hadn't hit any of the sharp rocks protruding out from the steep cliff or drowned. "I know what you're thinking, Rogers, but it's not gonna work. We barely made it the first time so that's not a rollercoaster ride I'm getting on anytime soon."

"Do you have any other ideas?"

Clint exhaled deeply. He had been wrecking his brain desperately trying to figure out a way through the miniature army that was slowly closing in. He had a few of his trick arrowheads, but none of them could give them the opening they needed. What they needed was a big distraction and a clear path to the trees. He caught sight of the waning light. The sun was on its way down and so had turned the sky a dark blue with a pink line dancing above the horizon.

It was getting darker and so it would be harder for everyone to see. It would be the perfect time to strike; it was only a question of who moved first.

He thought for a second and quickly came to the conclusion that it was a better idea than jumping back into the river again and hope for the best. He turned to Steve and quickly explained his idea. The super soldier nodded his agreement and made sure his shield was placed firmly around his arm and the duffel bag was secured on his shoulders. When he signaled that he was ready to move, Clint moved closer to the cockpit and crouched down by the wall. Ignoring the ricocheting bullets pinging at the metal, he scouted the area after the best possible position and found a place where the attackers were spread thinnest. Then he clicked a button on the handle of his bow and an explosive arrowhead was locked into place. He swiftly nocked the arrow, pulled back the string and took his aim.

A breath later, he released.

The black arrow sailed through the air and landed right in the middle of the small armed group. Events set into motion quickly after that. As the arrow imbedded itself into the ground, a soft beep was the only warning anyone got before a large boom echoed through the air. The ground shook with the explosion and everyone within ten feet of it were engulfed by the raging flames that shot out from the point of impact.

Steve and Clint wasted no time as they ran from their cover towards the explosion site. Those that hadn't been within the vicinity of the blast started firing towards the running agents, but the orange flames were bright against the deepening sky and so the light had distorted their vision greatly and most of the bullets didn't get near enough to be of any danger. But enough of them were still nipping at their feet and peppering their trail towards the high trees they were aiming for.

There were still a few attackers standing in their escape route, dazed by the distraction. Clint didn't waste any bullets on them and instead opted for hand-to-hand to take them out as did Steve beside him. It didn't take long. A few well-placed punches and kicks and those had stood in the way lay moaning or simply quiet in the grass.

But as Clint twisted the arm of the last man he caught a glimpse of the emblem that had been sown into the man's black coat. It was the logo of SHIELD. He quickly struck the man in the face and glanced nervously to the side to see Steve punch a guy who then flew several feet to collide with a thin tree trunk. He only hoped the super soldier hadn't seen the logo. But knowing his luck, Steve probably had. There was no way he was getting out of this one now.

They ran after that; until the sky had turned completely black with the deep night and their legs were shaking and their lungs were screaming for air with the effort. They only stopped when they were absolutely certain no one was following and they found another abandoned grey structure. This time it had three stories and would probably have been a small hotel or vacation apartment if it ever was to be finished.

None of them dared to stay on the ground and it was by a silent agreement that they would take shelter on the first floor.

Steve didn't hesitate. He ran towards the building and jumped, his hands easily grabbing the flooring and effortlessly pulling himself up, despite the aggravation it caused his arm. He threw down the duffel bag and his shield and turned to help up Clint. But the archer had already secured his bow on his back and taken back a few steps to get a running start. Then he ran forward and jumped into the air much the same way Steve had done and just like before, his hands caught the floor ledge. Like a circus acrobat, he swung his body to gain momentum and a breath later his feet hit the floor.

Steve only raised his eyebrows at moves. As impressive as it was, especially with his wounded abdomen, there were much more important matters to think of. What he had seen out there in the field disturbed him greatly.

"Those were SHIELD agents," he said, his body unable to stay still with the revelation. "It sounds crazy, but I saw the logo on their arms. It was actual SHIELD agents shooting at us."

"Yeah, I know."

Steve whirled around at the tired response he got. He seemed unable to stand still, no matter how exhausted he was. And it baffled him to no end that the archer before him was so utterly and completely calm with this development.

"What do you mean 'you know'? How can you be so calm about this? We are being hunted by SHIELD! If this is how they treat their employees then we are going to have a serious problem-"

"They're not working for SHIELD," Clint interrupted tiredly.

"What do you mean?"

"They're working for Andrew Coleman," Barton answered. Then he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. "And they are not hunting us. They're hunting me."

"Who's Andrew Coleman? And why is he after you?"

Clint avoided Steve's eyes and was quiet for so long that the soldier thought he wouldn't answer. For a short while there were only the chirping sounds of nocturnal animals and the gentle breeze blowing through the trees.

Then he finally answered in a broken voice.

"Because I killed his son."

 **TBC**


	6. It's Where My Demons Hide

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Summary** : An enemy attack leaves Clint and Steve stranded and alone. But as the ploy unfolds, the two agents realize it is tied directly to the events in Slovakia and to Clint's own past. Sequel to 'Of Bonds Forged in Fire'. It might be a good idea to skim through that one before reading this.

 **Chapter title** : It's Where My Demons Hide

 **Author's Note** : Clint's past is brought to light in this new chapter! Just so you know, my Hawkeye's past comes from a mixture of comic book canon (what I could read my way to) and a healthy dose of my own imagination! Hope you guys aren't gonna be too mad about this :-) Plus I threw in another Budapest hint, just for the kicks!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

The fire was crackling loudly as the flames were slowly consuming the dry branches Steve had found. He stared over the warm light at the man sitting cross-legged across from him.

Clint's head was hanging low and his eyes were fixated on a spot on the illuminated floor. He hadn't been willing to divulge further and had only quietly suggested that they should find some dry wood to make a small fire in the middle of the first floor, not visible enough to be spotted from the ground. Since then there had been nothing but a smothering silence coming from the man. And Steve had no idea where to start. He didn't know why he was so surprised and in shock from learning this new fact about his teammate. He knew that Barton, and Romanoff for that matter, worked as spies and assassins so it shouldn't be a surprise to learn that Clint had some kind of body count. But there had been something in the way he had uttered the words. He had seemed reluctant to speak them and they had been filled with despair and bitterness. And Steve suspected that any questions he asked wouldn't get any answers. But he deserved an explanation of some kind and he would get it.

Drawing a quick breath for courage, Steve said, "So, Andrew Coleman?"

Clint sighed heavily and closed his eyes as if he was conflicted with himself, debating whether or not to respond. "I suppose there is no getting around that one, huh?" he eventually answered.

"No, there isn't," Steve firmly replied.

"Andrew Coleman is a SHIELD board member. His head office is in Greece, which was how he managed to assemble a strike team that fast, but his main area consists of all the Eastern parts of Europe. He has eyes on pretty much everything in both tactical and administrative decisions."

"Is he dirty?"

"No, not that I know of," Clint shook his head. "At least, he's never shown any direct signs of it."

"Well, he did just shoot a Quinjet containing two SHIELD agents out of the sky. I'd say that's a sign."

"He has never done anything to betray SHIELD."

"And yet he's trying to kill you," Steve said. He didn't understand why Barton was this defensive of the man who was trying very clearly and desperately to kill them.

"Yeah, he is. Everybody has their way of grieving, I guess that's his."

Clint's words were almost nonchalant and Steve felt his temper flare in his chest. The world wasn't black and white anymore, he was beginning to realize that, but he refused to believe that it would ever get to the point where this was a viable, _excusable_ explanation for this amount of violence.

So he countered: "That's no excuse. And yet you let him have it. Why?"

Clint's eyes fell further down, as if in shame, and Steve furrowed his brow at the reaction. "Barton?"

The archer didn't answer and Steve was getting sick and tired of the silent treatment he received. He squared his jaw and looked sternly into Barton's eyes.

"I think it's time you started talking."

A slow, silent minute ticked by and the struggle of whether or not to spill the beans was visibly raging on Clint's face. Eventually though, all the energy seemed to sap out of the archer and he sighed tiredly, up giving.

"I haven't always worked for SHIELD," he started off. His words came slowly and hesitantly but as the story continued his voice grew in power and determination."I told you about my brother, who gave me the scar on my chest. Barney. When our parents died, we ran from the piss-poor excuse of an orphanage we had been dropped at and found a traveling circus that we quickly joined. It was where I learned how to use a bow. One of the circus acts caught me playing with it one day. I thought he was gonna beat me up, but instead he asked me if I wanted to try it."

"And you hit the mark?" Steve interrupted curiously.

Clint actually smiled at the question as if fondly remembering the time. "Far from. But he must have seen something there, because he took me under his wing and taught me everything there was to know and I soon became a part of the act.

"One day I found Barney and my mentor stealing cash from the circus and when I tried to stop them my own brother chased me down and drove a knife through my chest and left me there to die. I didn't stay long after that. I found myself traveling the country, making money where I could. By my 20th birthday I turned towards more dangerous paychecks. I found out my skills could be used for something else. I made my name known in the criminal world as Hawkeye, the assassin that never missed. At first it was just bad people wanting to get rid of other bad people.

"Then it turned into contracts on innocent people too. Once you get the contract, you can't refuse. They'll kill you if you do. I was young and I didn't know what else to do. So I did the jobs no matter how much I hated it. Then the hit on Kyle Coleman appeared in my hands."

"Andrew Coleman's son," Steve whispered, entranced by what he was hearing.

Clint nodded. "Coleman had ties with the cartel that ordered the hit and had worked with them before. But suddenly he stopped, presumably part of the deal he got with SHIELD. It's hard to say no to a steady income and never wondering if someone will stab you in the back from one day to the next. Needless to say, they weren't happy with the decision so they hired me.

"Kyle was just a kid in high-school. He hadn't done anything wrong, other than having the wrong father. I refused at first, but those people aren't exactly the most understanding type. And they don't take 'no' for an answer. So I tracked down Kyle Coleman and I made sure his father found him in his room with an arrow sticking out of his throat, so he knew who had taken his life."

Clint's eyes were blurry and out of focus as he was lost in the memory, staring mindlessly into the flames.

"When it was done I collected my money and got the hell out of town. I taught myself how to disappear and how to fight. I still took contracts but this time I decided whether or not I wanted to. It got me more than a few enemies but … at least innocent people wouldn't be hurt by my hands. It went on like that for another few months until Phil Coulson recruited me to SHIELD and I realized I could start over."

When Clint was done talking, Steve had no idea how to respond. He knew sympathy was a little lost on the archer but he wanted nothing more than to say he was sorry for what Clint had had to go through during his lifetime. He knew a little about not being strong enough to stop the injustice in the world, even though he tried.

He also began to understand why Clint and Natasha were so close and worked so well together. Both of them clearly hadn't been dealt an easy hand in life and frankly Steve was impressed that they had made it this far. He could only imagine how heavy it must be to have carried around something like this for the past decade. He was impressed that Clint had managed to keep his sense of humor through it all too. He was always cracking jokes and sarcastic comments, sometimes even giving Stark a run for his money, and you would never be able to guess the dark secrets that hid underneath the sly smiles. He saw his teammate in a whole new light and though there were definitely some dark shadows there - they all had those after all - it was filled with a new level of respect.

"After all this time, why is Coleman coming after you now?" Steve asked. Other than 'I'm sorry' he could think of nothing else to say.

"We think he's tried in the past: Missions suddenly turning south and intel inexplicably being leaked. We always suspected it could be Coleman gunning for me without causing suspicion."

"We?"

"Fury and Coulson knew about it when I was recruited. Nat found out after Budapest. We suspect Coleman could have played a part in Slovakia too since Stein couldn't possibly have had the necessary information for it to go so bad."

Steve nodded with the information and tried to process everything he had been told. Seems like there was a lot he needed to be let in on should they ever make it out of this one.

"I have two years of killing on my conscience, Cap. I have spent the past 11 years trying to make up for what I've done and every time I allow myself to feel like I've started to wipe out some of my debt, something like this always show me what a fool I am for believing that I could actually make it right. That I could be anything but the killer I really am." Clint's voice dripped of bitter self-hatred.

"That some madman can't let go of his grief isn't on you," Steve slowly said. "That's on him."

"I was the one who send him over the edge. None of this would have happened if I hadn't put that arrow through his son."

"No, you're right, it probably wouldn't," Steve countered and at the broken look he received he quickly continued. "But that you have spent the last decade making up for your past mistakes has to count for something. And the fact that this man isn't willing to let go of the past says more about him than it does about you. I didn't know your past self and I'm not sure if I even want to, but I do know who you are now and that's somebody I'm proud to know. And I am absolutely certain that you have paid off your debt to this lunatic."

Steve looked Barton square in the eyes and made sure he had his gaze so he could see Steve's sincerity.

"You are a good man, Clint. And I believe in you. You will do what's right in the end."

Clint didn't answer him, but he did nod at his words and a timid smile played at his lips. Steve knew he must have gotten through at least on some level. A silence fell around their small fire and once again the popping fire was the only sound that echoed between them. Only this time it wasn't uncomfortable or strained.

Clint ran a hand across his face as if he could rid himself of the emotions that easily. He cleared his throat once before speaking. "So - what's next?"

Steve had no doubt about that answer. He looked at Barton with a confident sparkle in his eyes.

"We find Andrew Coleman and we stop that lunatic once and for all."

 **TBC**


	7. Don't Get Too Close

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Summary:** An enemy attack leaves Clint and Steve stranded and alone. But as the ploy unfolds, the two agents realize it is tied directly to the events in Slovakia and to Clint's own past. Sequel to 'Of Bonds Forged in Fire'. It might be a good idea to skim through that one before reading this.

 **Chapter title** : Don't Get Too Close

 **Author's Note** : And we are on to chapter 7! For anyone who still reads this. It would be nice with a review when you guys are done reading, just to let me know what you're all thinking

Oh! And Civil War is amazing! Go watch it as soon as you can!

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

They waited until morning came before moving out. Neither the archer nor the super soldier wanted to move about in the dark in case anyone came looking through the trees.

With all the tech SHIELD agents carried around they would be found within minutes if they started moving about in the night. So they took turns getting what sleep they could before dawn, since neither had slept since this whole thing started.

Clint had volunteered for the first watch. He knew without a doubt that he wouldn't get any sleep that night. His body was aching and worn down and his eyelids felt heavy. He could feel the gash on his stomach burning and pulling uncomfortably. But as soon as he would close his eyes Kyle Coleman's lifeless corpse would appear, with the bloody arrow sticking out from his throat and his distraught father's desperate screams. And along with him, came every single innocent life his arrows had taken over the years. They still haunted him some nights and their empty eyes would cause him to wake up, covered in sweat.

The nightmares had been frequent once. But after Phil recruited him to SHIELD they grew further and further apart. Natasha helped too. She was there to calm him down most times, just like he did for her on her bad nights. He had led himself to believe that he could actually forget what he had done and move on. And then Andrew Coleman decided to rip open the wounds all over again. Over and over.

Steve's words resonated through his head over and over again too. He had pondered them and analyzed them over and over again. Somehow it had felt good to tell the super soldier about his past. He had only spoken about it to Phil or Natasha, but he found that Steve knowing about what he had done lifted a great weight off his shoulders. Rogers hadn't seemed scared or looked at him with disgust or distrust. Instead he had only listened and understood.

" _I wasn't offering pity, Barton. Only sympathy."_

" _That won't get you very far in this business."_

" _But it might give me some friends to have my back along with way."_

Clint smiled a little at the conversation the two of them had had in the infirmary after Slovakia. It was a cruel business and it was true, sympathy didn't belong in that equation, but it did separate the good guys from the bad guys. And sympathy and understanding had given him teammates that would lay down their life for him and that was something rare to come by, no matter who you were.

And Steve seemed to believe in him, despite what he had learned. Clint wasn't about to disappoint the poster boy for everything that was right and good.

It was time to bury his past.

* * *

The dry grass cracked underneath Clint's boots as the pair stepped back onto the field tentatively. The explosive arrowhead had created a large circle of blackened, burned grass that stood out clearly against the overgrown green of the field. A light shimmer of grey smoke still rose from the circle.

It was completely quiet except for the chirping of the exotic birds sitting perched up in the trees. A few black-clad bodies lay unmoving on the ground, their faces obscured by the grass. Clint had put an arrow on the string, ready for any danger they might have encountered, but he quickly released the tension when he didn't spot any threats. Steve was by his side and had had his shield at the ready, but he too lowered it and cautiously began moving out into the open.

After packing away his bow and arrow, Clint made for the nearest body and knelt down, a wince crossing his features when the action pulled uncomfortably at his stomach wound. Steve noticed but didn't say anything. The archer began patting down the dead man and removed a knife along with some ammunition, which he handed over to Steve. He then rolled the body onto its back and searched the front until he found what he was really looking for: A large, black satellite cell phone.

Clint began punching in a number he knew by heart and placed the phone by his ear.

"Is that a good idea? Even if it isn't the official SHIELD hunting us, don't you think Coleman has every single phone line tapped?" Steve asked with a frown.

"I'm not calling SHIELD," Clint quickly clarified while he listened to the phone ring. It was picked up after two rings and the voice that greeted him on the other end, almost made him laugh with relief.

" _Clint?_ "

"Nat," Clint breathed as a greeting. He didn't realize how much he needed to hear her rough voice until he actually heard it say his name.

Natasha was quick to pick up on it and Clint even detected a hint of relief in her tone too. " _Good. You guys alright?_ "

"We're breathing for the moment," he settled as an answer. He had no doubt she could practically hear his injuries through the phone. She always knew when he was lying. A skill he both appreciated and absolutely hated about her. "Nat, it's Coleman. That son of a bitch shot us down from the sky. Nearly killed the both of us."

" _I know. Base's been practically buzzing with activity since it happened._ " He heard her sigh heavily on the other end. She sounded worked up and tired at the same time. " _Clint, you can't go back to SHIELD_."

"Tell me what's going on."

" _I don't know how he did it, Fury's working on that right now, but he put a bounty on both your heads. He's managed to convince half of SHIELD to track you down. Apparently someone's still sore after New York._ "

Clint swallowed down the lump that appeared whenever the topic of New York came up. The guilt might not be as strong as it once was, but it still tugged at his heart. Phil's death was something you didn't just get over, especially considering what lengths that man had gone through for his ass. The archer shook his head. One demon at the time.

Natasha kept going. " _You guys need to disappear until this dies down. Most of those on Coleman's side won't hesitate with killing the both of you._ "

"I can't walk away from this, Natasha. Not this time."

" _I know what this means to you. But just wait until we get a handle on this. You can't go against SHIELD by yourself._ "

Clint looked up at Captain America standing a few feet away from him, looking out over the field. He smiled confidently. "I won't be myself."

" _At least wait until I get there. I'm as much a part of it as you are_."

"I need you where you are, Nat. I need someone in my corner right now."

He heard her sigh on the other end and could practically feel the waves of trepidation rolling off of her though the phone. She knew he was right but he also understood the need she had at being by his side. Their last few encounters with Coleman's work hadn't exactly been pleasant. But Coleman had revealed his hand and it was now he would be the most vulnerable. There would be no better time to strike.

" _I'll do what I can here. Just promise me something?_ "

"Name it."

" _Whatever happens, you get back here in one piece._ "

Clint huffed at the stern command and felt a genuine smile pull at his lips for the first time in days. "Yes, ma'am."

" _You boys be safe_."

Then Natasha ended the call. Despite everything, Clint felt a bit calmer. Natasha would always be his rock and she seemed to always understand what he needed. She might not agree with it, but she would always support him in his decisions like he would support her in hers.

He took a deep breath and then stood up, turning towards Steve who was watching him expectedly. "Learn anything new?"

"Well, we are officially wanted men," Clint lightheartedly answered and gestured for the bag that contained the weapons they had stored.

"Fantastic. So how do we find Coleman?" Steve asked as he handed it over.

"I have a few contacts I could reach out to. Maybe they'll point in the right direction," Clint said as he packed the satellite phone into the bag and zipped it closed before he slung it over his shoulder. He did his best to ignore the sweat pouring down his back or the insistent throbbing of all his bruises and torn skin that made up his side. He felt slightly dizzy too.

They were about to move along when a sudden moan stopped both of them in their tracks. Clint swung around while he nocked an arrow aiming towards the sound. He found himself staring down at a SHIELD agent lying in the grass, a victim of the explosive arrow, half-burned but alive.

The agent wheezed, "Isn't this my lucky day?"

 **TBC**


	8. The Ones We Hail Are the Worst of All

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Summary** : An enemy attack leaves Clint and Steve stranded and alone. But as the ploy unfolds, the two agents realize it is tied directly to the events in Slovakia and to Clint's own past. Sequel to 'Of Bonds Forged in Fire'. It might be a good idea to skim through that one before reading this.

 **Chapter title** : The Ones We Hail Are the Worst of All

 **Author's Note** : I have nothing else to say other than enjoy this chapter and please leave a review when you're done reading!

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

Steve could hardly believe his eyes. Half of the agent's face was red and blistered from the flames that had taken some of his blond hair too. His black gear was singed and full of burned holes where the skin underneath looked about as bad as his face. His chest was heaving up and down rapidly and every breath came out raspy and wheezing. It was a wonder he wasn't dead yet, but judging by the state of him it wouldn't take long.

Anger towards Andrew Coleman filled Steve's chest again. That man had no boundaries and no regard for human life. Not even that of fellow SHIELD agents. And for what? Cold revenge over something that happened over a decade ago.

Steve moved closer to the injured agent and knelt by his head. He felt Clint's presence behind him and when he looked around he came face to face with a water bottle. He wordlessly took it, uncapped it and offered a sip to the agent. "Here."

The man shot him a suspicious look but quickly caved in and accepted the water. He drank graciously and only stopped when a weak cough erupted from his throat. It quickly died down only to be replaced by the troubled breathing. It echoed in the field and Steve briefly wondered how they missed it in the first place.

"Thank you," the man whispered.

Clint knelt down in the grass next to Steve. "Sorry, it didn't come entirely free." Steve shot him a questioning frown but Clint continued relentlessly. "We want to know where Andrew Coleman is hiding."

A raw laugh rolled over the man's lips. "Like I would betray Coleman to the likes of you. You can torture me all you want, I can take it."

"You see fire-rescue coming for you? You're alone, man. Coleman doesn't care about you. All he wants is revenge," Clint calmly said. "That's all he cares about."

Again, the agent laughed. A terrible, strained laugh Steve hoped he would never hear again. "Like I would listen to anything you say. You're nothing but a child murderer. If I don't talk, will you kill my kids too?"

Something dangerous yet vulnerable flashed in Clint's eyes. His jaw tightened and his hands clenched tightly into fists. All of the sudden one of his hands clamped down on an angry-looking burn on the agent's right side and then he dug his fingers into the blistered skin. The man screamed violently at the sudden onslaught of pain, but Clint barely flinched.

"I don't care about your family and I don't care about you. I'm looking for Andrew Coleman. You're going to tell me his location," he sternly said.

The side of the man's face that wasn't burnt turned even paler and he started choking for air. Tears rolled down his cheeks. Two minutes in and Steve couldn't stand it any longer.

"Barton!" he barked loudly. He was surprised at his own commanding tone but even more surprised when Clint actually let go. The archer quickly rose to his feet and stalked away from the burnt SHIELD agent and super soldier.

Steve ignored it for the moment. He turned back to the man before him and sighed. "Look, I don't know what lies Coleman has fed you, but he left you here to die. He used you and deceived you, just like he did the rest of the SHIELD agents. He's blinded by revenge and grief and his vendetta has already spilled enough blood as it is. Don't let more innocent people get caught in the cross-hairs for this.

It's enough."

Steve could see the wheels turning inside the agent's head and he prayed he could get though to him.

"You know you're not going to make it off this field. You might as well use the time you have left to do what you signed up for; doing the right thing."

The agent's confidence wavered and this time only a single tear rolled from his green eyes down his cheek and disappeared onto the ground. "In my pocket," he wheezed silently. "You'll find the coordinates to Coleman's safe house."

Steve found the small lap of paper fairly quickly. As he pulled out the note and made to secure it in his own pocket, a gloved hand stopped his actions. The SHIELD agent's clear eyes looked up at him pleadingly.

"Please tell my family I'm sorry," he whispered. He didn't not let go of his death grip until Steve had assured him twice that he would find his family and tell them. Then the man let his hand fall limply to the ground and his eyes glazed over. He exhaled once and then he turned deathly still.

Steve let out his own breath slowly. Then he closed the dead SHIELD agent's eyes and stood up, note in hand. He turned and saw Barton standing a good distance away, staring in his direction. He had probably heard most of that conversation even though he gave no indication he had.

As Steve got closer he could see the bags under the archer's eyes that had become more prominent and he was swaying slightly where he stood, sweating coating his forehead. He looked dead on his feet and for that reason Steve didn't even acknowledge the fact that he had tortured a dying man a few minutes earlier.

Instead he simply walked up to him and nodded towards the fresh bloody patch on Clint's vest the gash underneath had created. "Looks like it has reopened."

He gestured towards the Quinjet and when he began walking Clint followed him without a word.

* * *

When they entered the Quinjet wreckage, Clint leaned up against one of the walls and used its support to guide him to the floor.

Steve took to searching through the duffel bag for the medical supplies he knew the archer had thrown in there the first time they had been in the wreckage. He quickly found the kit and moved to kneel beside a very tired-looking Barton.

"Can I take a look?" he gently asked.

Clint warily eyed him for a second, before he took a deep breath and unzipped his vest. He slit the fabric away enough to reveal the gash. The impromptu bandage consisting of torn clothes had been soaked through with blood and the knots had loosened, setting the bandage askew. Steve quickly tore the useless fabric off and tossed it to the floor. The wound itself was bleeding sluggishly again but what concerned Steve the most was the pus that was also seeping out and the edges of the rash were red and swollen. It didn't have the sharp odor of rotting flesh yet, but that would eventually come too. It was slowly becoming infected and jumping and running around probably didn't help matters further. Steve cursed inwardly. They could have used even a little streak of luck.

There wasn't much he could do with the limited supplies Steve had at his disposal. Clint needed a hospital with antibiotics and sterile equipment. The only thing he could do was clean it at the best of his ability. He found the disinfectant bottle and poured the clear liquid over the wounded area. He didn't prepare the archer for the burning sensation that followed; he knew Clint was watching his every move and knew what to expect. His muscles contracted and his jaw tightened when the stinging disinfectant came in contact with his skin, but otherwise he remained stoically silent. When Steve was certain he could do no more, he took a few bandages and soaked them with the water from one of their bottles. Then he placed them inside of the wound and left them there until they dried. After that, he started wrapping Barton's midsection and this time he secured the bandages as tightly as he could. He hoped that would be enough until this was over.

For the first time since this whole thing started, Steve found himself wondering when in fact this would end. He had nothing to go on. They had the location of Coleman's safe house, but there was no guarantee he would even be there. And if he was, the bounty on their heads wouldn't just disappear. They would still be wanted by SHIELD and whoever else was involved. In a way, this was much worse than Slovakia. Sure, Clint wasn't bleeding out this time and for now, they could take a breather. But there was no extraction and nowhere they could run to. They were alone.

"You're unnervingly quiet," Clint's low voice interrupted his thoughts.

Steve shook his head and turned towards the archer with a light smile. "I could say the same for you."

"I don't know if you've noticed but I'm always quiet, Cap. Stark might have a monopoly on being the loudest, but that's never stopped you from opening your mouth," Clint answered back, a smirk playing at his own lips.

"I suppose that's true," Steve said. He put the practically empty medical kit back into the duffel bag and took out the small piece of paper containing the coordinates. "Now that we have Coleman's location, how are we going to get to him?"

"Don't worry about that. That's the easy part."

"And what are you going to do with him when we get there?"

"I don't know," Clint sighed.

"You don't know?"

"No, I don't," Clint snapped. "I have absolutely no idea what the hell I'm supposed to do. This isn't the first time I'm alone, but it's the first time that I desperately wish I wasn't. And I have no idea how to fix that."

Steve gingerly flopped down next to the smaller man. "You are not alone in this, Clint."

"I know I'm not. And yet it feels like I am."

"Why?"

"All of this happened because of me. Because of who I was and what I did a lifetime ago. I know I've helped more people than I hurt by now and most days I believe that. But I created a mess, thoughtless on whatever consequences that followed and now I have to clean it up. Like I should."

"But you said it yourself: it was a lifetime ago. That's not who you are."

"I just don't want to drag anymore innocent people down with me." Clint's voice was barely above a whisper, making it hard to determine if he was still speaking to Steve or making a promise to himself.

No matter what, the super soldier was ready to drill into the archer's head that he would never be alone again. He had a team backing him up now and a team would always have each other's backs. When he spoke he made sure his voice was as sincere as the words he uttered.

"Trust me when I say that those who follow you now, do so by their own free will. If you're going down, don't for a second think that me, Natasha or even goddamn Stark for that matter would ever hesitate in jumping in after you."

"I can't ask you to come with me," Clint sighed.

"You don't have to," Steve firmly said. "I got your back, Barton. No matter what."

He extended his hand, palm facing up. Clint eyed it for a brief moment before a genuine smile spread across his lips and he clasped his own hand on top of Steve's.

"I appreciate that, Cap. I really do."

 **TBC**


	9. They Dug Your Grave

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Summary:** An enemy attack leaves Clint and Steve stranded and alone. But as the ploy unfolds, the two agents realize it is tied directly to the events in Slovakia and to Clint's own past. Sequel to 'Of Bonds Forged in Fire'. It might be a good idea to skim through that one before reading this.

 **Chapter title** : They Dug Your Grave

 **Author's Note** : Now things are really picking up! Get ready! And please review when you're done! Thanks!

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

The coordinates led Clint and Steve to Greece, more specifically an isolated town placed in the middle of the hill-covered country. There were only two roads leading in and out and the locals living there hardly spoke any English, which meant practically no tourists (other than the ones passing through) and no prying eyes. A perfect spot to place your secret hiding space.

Steve was surprised that they'd actually managed to board a plane without SHIELD greeting them at the airport or simply purchasing the ticket without getting caught. Clint had taken charge of pretty much everything from the moment they left the Quinjet and had moved into populated areas. The archer made sure they had enough money to get to their destination along with any supplies they might need, Steve only adding in what Barton might have forgotten.

"You learn to pick up a few things on the run," had been Clint's only explanation when Steve had asked about it. And that was all he had gotten.

Soon they had found themselves on a plane to Athens where Barton had found an old car, which he quickly broke into and hotwired. Two hours later they found themselves at the outskirts of the small town where Clint had hidden their stolen vehicle away. They walked from where, keeping to the shadows of the evening that was slowly descending down over the high buildings, casting everything in a pale, pink light. It didn't take long for them to find what they were looking for.

The house wasn't overly large like a mansion or that extravagant. In fact it looked like most of the other houses that they passed on the road. It had the same pale beige color, the paint slightly chipped on the walls and the windowsills cut in impressive shapes and patterns. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary about the house, which made it perfect as a safe house. The building was located a mile away from the others of the small town, up a winding road and its back sheltered by masses of thin trees that covered the hillside that stretched on for a few miles. The terrain and steep hill would make it difficult for any intruders to sneak in through the back, leaving most of the security at the front.

Clint and Steve made the decision to enter through the back easily. It would be difficult and they would have to move slowly and carefully, but if they tried to fight their way through the many guards that patrolled the front side they would be caught or killed before they even got near Coleman.

The sun was completely gone over the ocean and the darkness of night has fallen over Greece by the time Steve and Clint were close enough to the back of Coleman's house. They had been sliding as slowly and quietly down the hillside as they possibly could and it had taken an hour until they could spot the soft, faint glow of turned on lights emanating from the windows. From their hidden vantage point they could easily get a clear view of the number of men in and around the house. They sat still half an hour and simply watched the routines.

"Small group consisting of three guards pass the upper right window every four minutes," Clint eventually stated quietly. "They probably patrol the hallway there."

"Ten more are stationed on the roof," Steve supplied with a frown.

Clint only smirked slightly, the thin film of sweat on his forehead glistening in the weak light. "Yeah, he counted on me stopping by."

"So do we give him what he wants?"

"We might as well," Clint shrugged. "Since he went through all that trouble."

"So we just climb?" Steve wondered out loud. Aside from the slim windowsills there really weren't much grip on the straight, crumbling walls.

"Nope," Clint sounded almost cheerful as he pointed at one of the sturdy trees to their right with knurly branches and a thick trunk. "We use that."

* * *

A few minutes later and Steve found himself balancing on a branch next to the archer, who seemed to be right at home in the heights. That was until he almost slipped when he had to adjust his footing and miscalculated where to place his foot.

He would have fallen down had Steve not caught him by the arm and kept him vertical. The soldier didn't ask the question out loud, but Clint still nodded. It was both a thanks and a sign that he was still good, even though his face had lost a shade. Steve knew there was nothing he could do. The archer would see this through, with or without him. He needed to. So the captain said nothing and instead focused on the rooftop where they would land.

Clint wordlessly put an arrow on the string and pulled the bow tight, signaling for Steve he was ready. Steve snapped off one of the smaller branches just above his head and then threw it as hard and far as he could. It landed a mile to the left where it collided loudly with another tree. The echoing snap of breaking tree caught the attention of the roof guards who instinctively turned their attention to the sudden sound. The small window was all Clint needed. He fired the arrow which embedded itself deeply in the thin material of the roof. The line attached grew taught between the roof and the tree-trunk and Clint used it to ease himself onto the roof with his bow.

The two guards that turned before the archer could touch down on the roof didn't get a chance to call out before Captain America's shield hit both of them. They both fell bonelessly to the ground within two seconds. It was enough for Clint to untangle his bow from the line and land on the roof where he immediately jumped the nearest guard.

Steve found it fascinating how different Clint fought compared to Natasha. Where she was all fluency and dangerous grace, Clint was more ragged in his movements. His didn't complement each other in the same way hers did and he didn't seem to flow from one man to the next. But he punched hard and with the same ferocity Natasha did and one by one the guards were rendered harmless. By the time Steve made his own jump seven of the men were down. Clint was busy with one of the men and didn't notice the one a few feet away, aiming his gun at the archer. Before he could fire Steve quickly threw his shield and it sailed silently throw the air where it connected with the man's jaw and he too went down. Clint's sharp elbow took care of the last man standing.

Convinced there were no more threats around, the two SHIELD operatives wordlessly made their way to the edge of the roof where Steve grabbed hold of Clint's legs and gently lowered the archer down, head-first. He signaled for Steve to hold him in place with a wave of his hand when he reached the nearest windowsill. He took out one of his small knives and began prodding the old window open by sliding the blade between the sill and frame and wiggling it backwards and forwards. Steve looked on, his whole body tense, as the frame gave little by little and Clint eventually managed to pry it open. He pushed it open and it squeaked slightly on its rusty hinges. Almost effortlessly, Clint swung his upper body upwards to Steve and with a firm hand on the soldier's arm he managed to flip around so that his boots touched down on the windowsill and then enter through the open window. Steve followed closely after by hanging himself over the roof edge and let himself fall until his hands found the windowsill. It pulled at his shoulders as his descent was abruptly stopped and his arm throbbed painfully at the strain. Steve ignored the feeling and with a swift push against the wall he made it through the window and into the hallway where Barton was waiting for him.

"You take left, I take right," Clint quietly said as they stared down the split hallway.

Steve only nodded but before they parted, he grabbed the archer's arm and looked firmly into his clear eyes. He swore he could see the slightest hint of a fever behind the hard determination. "Be careful."

"Don't worry about me, Cap. Worry about Andrew Coleman," was the only answer he received.

Then Clint turned on his heel and with an arrow nocked and ready, he made his way down the hall. Steve watched him for a few seconds before he moved left with his shield on his arm.

* * *

Clint felt his heart pound loudly in his chest and heard its rhythm beat in his ears. He couldn't discern how much of it was caused by the infection running in his veins and how much came from his trepidation as he came closer to Andrew Coleman.

He figured he was nearing his target when he came across more and more armed guards. He stopped trying to be silent when he knew he was headed in the right direction. By that time Coleman must have figured out Hawkeye had entered the house and Clint felt more than happy to let the man know he was drawing closer. He was ready to redeem his former self and put Andrew and Kyle Coleman to rest.

He fought his way through six more men before he found himself standing in front of a set of double doors made out of dark oak. Suddenly his heart stopped beating all together. Clint took a deep breath to calm his tense body. He could feel it growing weaker as more time went by and most of all he wanted to lie down and sleep for the next decade. But adrenalin and stubbornness kept him upright and he willed himself to go on just a little further.

Whatever happened next, one way or another, this would end.

Clint made sure he had a full magazine on the gun he had snagged from a dead guard and that he still had arrows in his quiver. Then he kicked open the doors and they burst open heavily. The room inside was large and well-lit. In one corner stood a robust wooden desk with a matching chair and in the other a small modern couch and a petite glass table. Aside from that, there was nothing else in the room. Except for a lot of people who all looked the moment the doors opened.

The second they did, Clint fired a shot at the nearest man and then dove into the room in a roll. Once he was on his knees he fired off two more shots that landed dead center in two more guards' chest. Then he pushed himself up and went after the man closest to him. He incapacitated him with a punch to the jaw that left him dazed but not completely out of it. He held him by the throat and used him as a human shield when the rest of the guards starting firing. The bullets that would have hit their mark now embedded themselves into their own man, who soon grew limp. Clint kept shooting, each of the bullets burying themselves in a head or torso. One by one the guards fell. The archer shot down those farthest away while he took on those closest to him in hand-to-hand. He snapped one guard's neck while he shot one that fired at him a few feet away. He had no idea on how earth none of the bullets actually hit him since he felt himself being open several times while he moved from one man onto the next one. Soon however he noticed the constant hail of gunfire ceased and eventually it completely stopped coming. The sounds of wild gunfire came from down the hall, letting Clint know Rogers was still wreaking havoc in the house. He focused on who he thought was the last man standing.

The man swung wildly, hoping to hit Clint square on the jaw. But the archer quickly ducked out of the way and kicked the man straight in the chest and sent him reeling back. Clint raised his gun to quickly finish the job but it clicked empty. The man glared at him gloatingly, but Clint only tossed the weapon away and moved faster than the guard to register. He grabbed a hold of the man's wrist and pulled. His already crooked nose connected with Clint's elbow, a resounding crack echoed, and he crumbled lifelessly to the ground.

Clint was left the only man standing and he was breathing heavily with the strain and the new cuts and bruises to match the old ones. His knees were shaking and he felt like he might collapse at any moment.

 _Not now. Not yet._

Two gunshots went off in his direction and Clint moved on pure instinct. He jumped to the side and into a roll again, while he took his bow from his back. With his deft fingers he had an arrow fitted to the string within a millisecond of getting to his feet and released. It sailed across the room to knock the gun straight out of his shooter's hand and the weapon clattered uselessly to the floor. The second arrow was nocked and aimed at the threat a breath later.

However, Clint didn't release.

Across from him, with an arrow pointed directly at his throat, was Andrew Coleman.

 **TBC**


	10. I Can't Escape This Now

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Chapter title** : I Can't Escape This Now

 **Author's Note** : Hi! Still alive and with another chapter. Things are starting to escalate here! Hope you guys can leave a review at the end :-)

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

Andrew Coleman was by no means a small man. He wasn't particularly tall, but he had the bulk to compensate for that, although he had never been much of a fighter. He had always left that piece of dirty work to his henchmen.

But the mighty, political tycoon that he normally represented was not present now. His graying hair was ruffled and hadn't been washed for at least two days, his dress shirt was creased and askew and the red tie had been loosened and now hung limply down his chest.

He looked about as worn down and exhausted as Clint felt.

But his eyes were a different story. They were alive and didn't show any fear despite the sharp arrow aimed in his direction. Instead they burned with such deep disgust and intense hatred Clint almost had to look away.

He had been on the receiving end of many loathing glares over the years and the archer had learned to ignore most of them. But the amount of grief and sorrow that existed in this broken man's eyes only served to strengthen the contempt Clint had for himself, the assassin he had been once. It almost broke his resolve right there and then, but he remembered all the innocent lives that had been lost in this ridiculous quest for revenge and those he cared for that had almost lost their lives just for being around him. It fueled his own anger too and he pulled the bowstring a little tighter.

"What's the matter?" Coleman sneered, the venom clear in his voice. "The great Hawkeye can't pull the trigger when your victim is staring back at you?"

His words stung, but Clint didn't let it show.

"Do it," Coleman dared. His voice broke ever so slightly at the last word, but to his credit his face remained hard and unforgiving.

Clint took a deep breath and gently eased the tension off the string. He lowered his bow so the arrow pointed lazily at the floor. "No," he calmly said and shook his head once. "I don't want to kill you."

For a moment Coleman looked almost bewildered and his eyebrows creased to a light frown. Then his eyes hardened and his lips tightened to a straight line.

"Then that will be your final mistake."

Clint only had a second to feel his confusion before several strong hands came from behind and took a firm hold on Clint's biceps. Where the extra guards came from, the archer had no idea and cursed his muddled mind for the lapse of attention. The guards forced him to let go of his bow and his beloved weapon fell uselessly to the floor. Before he could even ponder the anger that came with that disrespectful act, a swift kick to the back of his already unsteady legs was the final straw and his knees buckled quickly and smacked into the floor. His quiver was torn by the straps and tossed away. His arms were wrenched behind his back and held in a bone-crushing grip and finally he felt his dislocated shoulder burn at the rough treatment. Fingers entangled his hair and held his head so he was looking straight up at Coleman's disgusted gaze.

"You're a coward, Barton. You were one ten years ago and you are just as much one now. Nothing more than a worthless, cowardly killer."

Clint could only stare at the politician before him. Coleman didn't know how often Clint had had those exact thoughts and he couldn't possibly defend himself for something he could only agree on. But the urge to say something snarky whenever someone was confronting him was strong and always had been. He was about to open his mouth, having no idea whether it would be an apology or a comment that would come out, but the sounds of heavy grunts and bodies hitting the floor echoed through the hall outside the office. Steve was drawing closer and Clint couldn't help the small smile of satisfaction that spread out across his face. If they thought he was scary, it was nothing compared to a furious Captain America.

But Coleman only sighed as if it was just an annoyance. He took one of his guards' guns and cocked the safety off. He stepped closer to the archer and replaced his henchman's grip on Clint's hair and stuck the barrel into Clint's face with bruising force.

"Captain Rogers! Surrender yourself or Hawkeye receives an extra hole in his skull!" he yelled through the door. He seemed so relaxed about the act and he sounded so nonchalant it sent chills down Clint's spine. Sometimes he forgot the man had actually worked for the bad guys for awhile. Old habits died hard, he supposed.

A few more grunts were the only answer before silence came from down the hall. Coleman stuck the gun further into Clint's head, but when it didn't force the wanted sound out of the archer, he retorted by jabbing it straight into the gash in his side. It had the desired effect.

Clint hated himself for it, but he could do nothing about the yelp that escaped his lips when the cold metal dug into his inflamed skin.

"Captain!"

 _Don't you do it, Cap!_

But Clint's prayer went unheard, as Steve's reply came from down the hall.

"Don't shoot!"

A second later, he appeared in the large doorway, walking with tentative steps over the dead guards both he and Clint had put there. He had his hands open and raised above his head to show that he wasn't a threat. However the guards weren't fooled. They were on him the second he stepped over the threshold. The butt of a rifle slammed into his stomach and his torso folded in on itself as the air was forced out of his lungs and he let out a strangled cough. Not a moment later the same rifle came crashing down on his skull. A sickening crack followed and Rogers staggered with the blow. The second hit sent him crashing to the floor. Clint squirmed and struggled in the guards' death-grip at the mistreatment of his friend, but no matter how much he wiggled he couldn't make them stop. The men jumped on top of Captain America, one securing his legs and another bending his wrists behind his back so tightly it couldn't possibly be healthy. A third guard, one of the biggest men Clint had ever seen since Thor, dug his knee into Steve's back and placed his entire weight on it to keep the super soldier still. Big Guy then planted the barrel of his handgun in the back of Steve's head as a firm reminder of what would happen should he decide to move. Clint desperately tried to catch Steve's attention, hoping the soldier would let him know he was okay. But Steve seemed to hardly notice all the men pinning him down. Instead he was just blinking sluggishly, clearly still dazed from the blows. Blood was dripping down in fat drops from a gash on the side of his head.

Clint felt new-found anger for Coleman tear at him and the pity he had felt only a few moments ago had practically disappeared. It was the same anger he felt when Natasha had been involved in this ruthless father's thirst for revenge. How many more times did those around him had to get hurt for his mistakes?

"You son of a bitch," he sneered loudly to gain Coleman's attention. It worked. Coleman turned his gaze from Rogers on the ground and back to Clint. The archer grinned as smugly as he could, the blood that had mixed with his spit gleaming on his teeth.

"You're calling me a coward? You hide behind criminals who do your dirty work because you're too scared to do the job yourself. You say you want me dead? Fine, then at least be man enough to pull the damn trigger yourself!"

Coleman's eyes burned and Clint knew he had hit a nerve. He felt a strange sense of satisfaction in achieving that look. It didn't go away even as he was punched in the face to hard he felt the skin break.

Clint just shook it off and continued on, undeterred. "And that little adventure we had a few months back in Slovakia … That was you, wasn't it?"

The board member searched Clint's face, as if debating with himself whether or not to tell him. Eventually he sighed like he didn't see the point of hiding it any longer.

"I knew George Stein was dirty already, so I fed him the location of your safe house. He told it to Novotny and all that scumbag had to do was finish the job. It would be a simple mission gone wrong with Stein bearing the fault."

Clint would swear he heard a shadow of regret and disdain that wasn't aimed in his direction. He chose not to voice it. He just needed to keep the older man talking.

"And Budapest? Mexico? Norway? I bet Russia was your fault too."

"Although it fell into my favor, I didn't have anything to do with Norway. Pure luck, I suppose."

"Depends whose side you're standing on," Clint mumbled. His eyes drifted down to Steve again and he felt his spirits lift when he saw the soldier staring back at him with lucid eyes. Clint found himself envying the serum running through Steve' veins again. An ordinary man would not have been awake until next morning, assuming he even woke up. But here Steve was, lying underneath three fully grown men, alert, breathing and listening to every word that was exchanged.

And the archer fully intended to keep him alive.

"Spoken like a true assassin," Coleman spat. "There's no right or wrong. Only shades of grey."

"About fifty of them," Clint muttered. He received another punch, this time in his midsection. The fist landed in the middle of his wound and he gasped out loud as he felt the bandages shift and a thin line of blood run down to coat the top of his trousers.

"You don't even care, do you?" Coleman muttered and the heart-broken father had returned in his voice.

Clint felt his heart drop and despite everything the man had done, he could still feel the aching sorrow of having taken the only thing that had kept the former criminal sane. He wanted to- No. He _needed_ to apologize. Not just for killing Kyle Coleman, but for every single innocent victim that fell from his arrows.

"I don't think this is gonna matter to you, but I'm sorry. For everything I've done. I don't expect you to forgive me," Clint breathed. He saw Coleman's body tense up as he froze when he heard the archer's words.

" _But that you have spent the last decade making up for your past mistakes has to count for something. And the fact that this man isn't willing to let go of the past says more about him than it does about you."_

" _You're a good man, Clint. And I believe in you."_

He didn't know why he heard Steve's voice echo in his head, but it did and this time he fully intended to listen and believe every word. He met Steve's eyes from across the room and he could almost feel the strength emanating from the soldier.

It encouraged him to go on. "But I've spent the past 11 years trying to make up for my wrongs and I know it doesn't mean a damn thing to you, but I've done good. For all the wrongs I've committed, not just to you, I've done my damnedest to erase my past and focus on the future. Why can't you?"

Coleman stared at him with so many emotions flashing in his eyes. Clint had no idea how to discern what was going on in his head. He had no way of predicting what happened next and it scared him more than anything.

"You killed him," Coleman finally whispered. It was so low Clint had to strain his ears to hear the words, but once he did, all of the energy he had summoned fled instantly.

"You killed my son. You killed the only light I had in my life," Coleman continued, his voice low but the anger and despair behind them made it clear for everyone to hear. "He was going to school. He dreamt of being a doctor and saving those less fortunate than himself. As a father, I could not have been prouder. He was a good kid. A perfect kid …"

His eyes had drifted off as if he was stuck in a memory. But then they flew back to Clint. They were moist and clear.

"… and you killed him without a second thought."

His lips tightened and all the sorrow from his gaze vanished, replaced with red-hot fury. He cocked the safety off the gun his fingers had turned white from clutching so hard and aimed it at Clint's head.

"So no. I can't forget the past. Because without my boy, there is no future."

Clint looked straight into Coleman's eyes and waited for him to pull the trigger. He had failed Natasha. He had failed Phil. He had failed Steve. But at least it was over now. Andrew Coleman wouldn't hurt anyone else. He had gotten his revenge and Clint only hoped it tasted bitter.

It was all done.

 **TBC**


	11. When the Lights Fade Out

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Chapter title** : When the Lights Fade Out

 **Author's Note** : And we have another chapter! Don't know how long it's been since posting, but my guess is probably too long! To anyone still reading this, here is another chapter as we come to the epic conclusion! Review please! (-:

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

A loud thrashing and the sound of a heavy body colliding with the floor interrupted his peace. Clint might have given op, but Steve hadn't.

He had bucked his body the best he could and the sudden, violent movement caught two of the men off-guard and the Big Guy holding most of Steve's weight fell off and landed face first on the ground. The super soldier made a move to get up, but already five other guards rushed in to help. Four of them bodily threw themselves at the rising soldier while the fifth slammed his weapon into the back of Steve's head. The super soldier slammed right back down on the floor, momentarily dazed and the small pause allowed Big Guy to heave himself on top of Steve again, landing another solid punch in his face for good measure.

Steve continued to struggle as much as he could, grunting and heaving with the effort, and Big Guy growled at him to stay still.

"Shut up!" Coleman whipped his head around and practically yelled the order out loud. "If you can't hold him still and shut him up, shoot him!"

Big Guy moved and grabbed a firmer hold of the tossing Rogers' arm. While the other guards held the soldier's body as still as possible while Big Guy pulled the limb as hard as he could.

"No!" Clint screamed.

The resounding snap seemed to echo as loud as a gunshot in his ears. He looked on in shock as Steve gritted his teeth loudly as the no-doubt-overwhelming pain radiated from his now broken arm and his whole body went stiff, the fight briefly forgotten.

It returned however in Clint. And before Coleman could turn his head towards him again, he was already moving.

He pushed his shoulder into one of the guards holding him down and used the momentum to get one foot under him. As he rose he kicked out with his other foot. The boot connected with Coleman's hand and it sent the gun flying across the room. Another kick sent the man himself flying several feet back, clutching his aching chest. Clint turned to the guards. He head-butted the one to his left and the man let go of his bicep and took a wild swing in hopes of hitting flesh. The archer easily deflected the punch with a parade, which left the guard's face completely open. A fast jab at his throat and he went down like a sack of potatoes. When Clint turned to face the other he was met with a foot aimed directly at his ribs. He dodged it by stepping to the right. Avoiding another fist aimed at his cheek, he managed to wrap his arms around the man's neck and a small twist later, the guard went limp and too dropped to the floor.

As Clint turned he saw some of the guards had left Steve to help containing the now free archer and Steve had used that distraction to pick himself off of the floor. He had taken out five of the nearby men, despite his broken arm and was busy exchanging punches with Big Guy. He couldn't see how well the soldier was doing, but at least Steve was still standing.

Clint didn't see the fist aiming for his face either.

It slammed into his cheek and sent him reeling back several steps. A well-placed kick and a twist of the neck later and the guard that had come after him collapsed to the floor. Several more waited to take his place though. They charged him at once.

Had Clint been a hundred percent, he could have taken more punches. He had always been good at taking a punch. It didn't matter how hard it was or who threw it; his drunken father, the douche bag from orphanage number two he and Barney had been sent to after their parents died, or the countless criminals he had been up against most of his adult life. He would gladly take it and get back up again after. But he felt his body slowly decaying and the toxins of an infected wound rushing through his veins. He had to focus all of his energy to ducking and avoiding the fists and boots aimed in his direction because he was confident that one well-placed hit and he would go down. If that happened, he wasn't sure if he was able to get up this time.

So he spent whatever concentration he had on leaning back from the blurred fists and diving away from the kicks. He made sure that whenever he launched a counter attack it would be efficient enough that the guard would go down. Clint was certain he broke at least three noses and at least one arm. It gave him a hint of satisfaction after hearing the terrible crack as Steve's arm had snapped.

It was slow-moving but one by one the guards crashed to the floor.

Block. Shove away. Roll clear and stand.

Avoidance was simple but it was a game that couldn't go on forever. Clint suspected it was sheer luck that none of them had managed to hit his burning side yet.

He felt the sweat roll down his cheek from his forehead and he could hear his heart pumping away in his ears. It felt like it was about to pop out of his chest. From behind him he vaguely heard two heavy bodies colliding with each other. It was followed by Steve's pained grunts. Clint couldn't turn around to see how the soldier was fairing but it did not sound positive. With renewed energy, the archer surged forward and with a quick flip he didn't know his body was still capable of making followed by an uppercut, the guard in front of him dropped the floor, completely incapacitated.

Breathing heavily with the strain, Clint turned around. He only had a second to see Big Guy straddling the super soldier and pummeling his fists into his face mercilessly before Clint found himself sailing through the air and connecting with the wall. He shook his head to clear the daze and accompanying pain away and looked around to face the new threat. In front of him stood Andrew Coleman, his eyes once again burning with anger and disgust. Every other guard lay moaning or silent on the ground, their bodies littering the floor.

"So, it's down to the final man," Coleman said, his voice loaded with an odd mixture of confidence and trepidation. He gestured with his hands to the non-moving men around him. "It comes down to this. To the two of us. Are you going to kill me now?"

"I never wanted that," Clint defended, as he used the wall to haul himself straight.

"Perhaps that's the lie you've told yourself from time to time, but you and I both know we can't both walk out that door."

"You truly believe that?"

"After having tried to kill you over and over again, do you really think I want to let you live?" Coleman answered, like it was the simplest thing in the world. "And you can't let me live because you know I will keep trying. And eventually I will succeed; either I'll kill you or I'll get the redheaded Russian instead. Or maybe one of your new friends."

Clint had to hold his tongue when Coleman mentioned Natasha. If that lunatic as much as went anywhere near her again he would end up begging for death, not toying with it. He found that the sentiment held true for the rest of the Avengers.

But Coleman went on, drawing strength from seeing the furious look in the archer's eyes. "But in time, I will finally get my revenge on you and you know it. And you have no other way to stop what's coming."

Clint hadn't given much thought whether or not he should reveal his trump card to the man standing in front of him. He had kept the secret hidden in case he didn't make it out of here or Coleman didn't. He didn't know what he expected really when he waltzed in here, but perhaps some foolish part of him believed that this could actually be fixed. Seeing what all the hatred had come to, it was an easy decision. He needed Andrew Coleman to know that he had won. That Clint Barton, the orphan assassin-turned-Avenger, beat the odds and came out on top.

"I know there's one thing you've forgotten," he said. He couldn't help the proud smirk that stretched out across his face. "I'm not the killer you think I am anymore. I've come a long way since I first joined SHIELD."

He pulled out the small round recorder he had hidden underneath his vest. A red dot in the middle was blinking rapidly as it was still recording every word spoken. "I got you, you son of a bitch."

Coleman stood breathing heavily as the fury burned in his gaze. He simply stood there, fuming for a second and then he lunged himself at the archer so fast, Clint didn't have any time to react. The two men collided with heavy grunts. Clint dropped the recorder.

He jerked back as a fist came flying at his face. It whizzed by in a blur of knuckles. But instead of returning a punch of his own he simply pivoted away from the man. He had no desire to fight him. He had gotten the confession he wanted and he had caused enough harm as it was. Coleman however had other ideas. He threw himself at Clint again and this time he hit his mark. Clint stumbled a few steps back and practically heard his body screaming at him to stop moving. Coleman's polished shoe connected with his side and he went down with a cry. He landed, dodged the shoe coming for him again and rolled away.

For a second his whole world was just filled with blinding pain and a beckoning darkness on the edge of his vision. He didn't know how on earth he would get his body to cooperate with him. The simply task of opening his eyes seemed impossible. Then his senses returned.

 _Up_. He had to get up.

He was on his feet, shaking his head as he tried to see through a grey haze. He staggered with the fog of confusion and pain. It wouldn't be long before his body gave up on him completely. He looked around for the recorder, making sure it was still in one piece. Coleman seemingly had the same idea. They both found it lying by the wall.

The two men dived for it at once, but Coleman had been closer and reached it first. Clint fell on top of him and desperately tried to claw it out of his hand. The politician gasped at the weight. He grinded his teeth as he started to squeeze the small piece of technology as hard as he could.

"No!" Clint grunted. He grabbed a hold of Coleman's wrist and twisted. The man didn't let go, only tightened his own grip. The recorder started fizzing and breaking under the pressure.

Clint twisted harder. Coleman cried out as his wrist broke. He released his grip and the device fell to the ground.

Coleman retaliated by craning his body around before he stuck his thump directly into Clint's wound. The reaction was instantaneous as Clint rolled away from the pain with a hoarse scream. Coleman didn't let him breathe this time though as he launched himself at the archer. He started throwing frantic punches. Every hit felt like concrete slamming into Clint's flesh and he wondered if he might actually break under the heavy pressure.

He didn't know why he was allowing the punches to keep hitting his flesh. His failing body or his subconscious that was whispering in his ear that he deserved every bit of it.

Then something shifted. His fevered brain got too tired to keep up. His instincts took over. He dodged more of Coleman's fists or blocked those he couldn't. He started giving out punches of his own. He managed to roll away and rise to his shaking feet. This time he didn't hesitate as the politician came at him. He glided his upper body to the side when Coleman launched at him and returned the favor with a right hook that sent the older man flying several feet across the room.

Coleman changed tactics then and tackled the archer by the legs and they went down in a tangled heap. Both tried desperately to gain the upper hand. Limbs connected with whatever flesh they could find. Grunting and panting.

Then Clint got a hold of Coleman's wrist and pulled. The fractured bones grounded together and Coleman cried out in pain. The distraction was all Clint needed. He pushed Coleman's body away with his foot. Before the man could recover Clint was on top of him. His knuckles burned as he landed punch after punch. He felt Coleman go limp underneath him. It was only then he stopped.

Coleman's wrinkled face was a mass of swelled bruises and cuts. His nose was twisted and gushing blood. Whatever fire that had been burning in his grey eyes had extinguished completely. All that was left was the sorrow and pain.

"Go ahead!" he rasped. "Kill me. You have everything you need. You can do it now and still get away with it. No punishment. Just do it!"

Clint felt his whole body trembling violently as he leaned over Coleman. He didn't know what to do. He had no idea what he could say. Everything was muddled together. He just sat there and stared down at the beaten man.

"Do it!" Coleman cried, a single tear running down his busted up face.

Everything disappeared then. All Clint saw was the devastated father, who cried for five hours while he held his son's lifeless body and begged him to open his eyes. The father who couldn't stop screaming until his voice ran out and who vowed to destroy whoever dared take his boy from him. Clint was taken back 11 years where all he felt was the guilt and shame for his horrendous crimes, and the overwhelming sensation that he needed to be punished for what he had done.

His felt his own breathing hitch and his vision blurred. Was it with tears or fatigue he had no idea. And he didn't really care. All he knew was that he could not finish the job and never would. He was done.

"I'm so sorry," Clint whispered, his voice weak and raw.

His fist connected with Coleman's cheek. He was out before his head had fully snapped to the side with the blow.

And just like that every ounce of energy seemed to leave Clint's body at once. The adrenaline was completely gone and he had nothing else to give.

Clint crawled off of the limp body of Andrew Coleman and headed slowly towards the cracked recorder lying forgotten on the floor. He barely managed to get there. When he did he just managed to clutch the device tightly in his hand before his arms started shaking uncontrollably. His whole body soon followed suit and every joint seemed to lock into place. He stood there on all fours while his body collapsed in on itself, as it finally gave up.

His thoughts were racing around in his head with no form of coherence or pattern. His heart was constricting painfully as it thumped away madly. His vision dipped and blackened. He vaguely felt himself tipping to the side and hitting the floor.

He simply laid there for what felt like hours, feeling his life slowly ebbing away as unconsciousness drew closer.

It was over.

His eyes blinked shut. Steve's low voice calling his name was the last thing he registered before darkness came and carried him away.

 **TBC**


	12. It's Dark Inside

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Chapter title** : It's Dark Inside

 **Author's Note** : Another chapter for you! If any of you are still here! I hope you enjoy and as always be kind to leave a review at the end!

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

Time was a funny thing.

Steve was amazed at how it seemed to change so rapidly from one moment to the next. Time had slowed down considerably when he had first stepped into that office and seen Clint, pale and bruised, held down with Andrew Coleman hovering above. It wasn't until the mountain-sized guard broke his arm and the archer broke free and everything descended into madness that the time had sped up. Suddenly men were running around, trying to take down each other and loud yells echoed throughout the room.

When the big man had finally gone down, and _stayed_ down, Steve had turned to see Clint rolling away to collapse onto the ground with Coleman's limp body beside him. The following 20 hours after that seemed to pass by in a rapid blur and later on Steve would only remember bits and pieces.

He didn't remember somehow calling SHIELD for immediate help. He didn't remember screaming at the agents that showed up to think for themselves for once in their damn lives and help the dying archer either. He didn't recall the two hours they spent at a small hospital in Austria where they stabilized Clint enough for him to make it across the Atlantic.

He did remember fighting the big guard, convinced he was Thor's missing twin. The man seemed barely affected by whatever blows Steve managed to land. It had taken up most of his stamina to keep up with that giant with a broken arm. How he had actually managed to knock down that mountain he would never know.

He remembered the anxious wait for SHIELD to arrive where Clint had handed him the small circular recorder with a proud look in his dull eyes. He had muttered something incoherent too but his speech had been so slurred and low that Steve had no way of discerning what he had said.

He vividly remembered Clint deciding to stop breathing on his own on the flight back to the States and him begging him not to give up.

He could recall the sharp pain of having to refracture the bones in his arm as it had already begun to heal by the time a doctor was able to convince him to take a proper look at it.

Most of all he remembered the terrible and sinking feeling of dread and anxiety eating away at his heart. The deep, aching fear that this time Clint didn't pull through.

But Clint did pull through. He fought long enough for them to touch down in Washington where he was immediately taken to the SHIELD medical facility. Suddenly time came to a grinding halt and Steve found himself sitting on a chair and staring into space, arm strapped tightly to his chest with a sling.

The bright, white hall was busy with scrubs-clad medical staff and SHIELD personnel, most of which were still in their tactical gear. All of the commotion around him seemed indifferent and Steve hardly focused on anything that was going on around him. Most of his bruises from the plane crash had faded and hardly left marks on his skin anymore. Instead those that now adorned his face all came from the fight in the safe house. The bags under his eyes were probably the most prominent feature. His broken arm still throbbed occasionally but it wasn't long before that too would fade as the bones had already begun to heal. He tasted the bitterness of having walked away so scar-free when Clint was somewhere in the facility, fighting simply to keep breathing.

Steve did his best not to think about the facts. He only stared straight ahead, his mind blank. He felt drawn out and empty. He looked down at the voice recorder clutched in his palm. The device still had a few cracks around the edges but it worked. Steve had played the tape three times already. Clint had gotten his confession. Andrew Coleman's harsh voice admitting to every little thing he had done over the years to gain his revenge. He was somewhere in the Triskelion too, though Steve had no idea where and for the moment he didn't really give a damn.

Firm, rapid steps echoing in the hallway tore Steve from his thoughts. He looked up to see Natasha storming through the door and was all but running towards him. He gingerly rose to his feet, expecting to be on the receiving end of an angry Black Widow. But as she got closer, Steve could see her gaze was focused on the set of double doors behind him and she was making a beeline for it. She would have blown straight past him, had he not grabbed her arm and placed himself directly in her path. He almost physically flinched at the hard stare he received.

"I don't want to hurt you, Rogers, but if you don't move within the next three seconds, I swear I will tear your arm off," she coldly replied. Her steel eyes didn't waver.

Steve knew it was a promise she would gladly follow through on and he removed his hand. But he didn't back away. "There's nothing you can do."

Natasha didn't seem fazed as he towered over her. She simply raised her chin and set her jaw.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"They took him to surgery an hour ago."

"How bad is it?"

Steve sighed heavily. For a moment he pondered telling her a comforting lie. That it wasn't as bad as it seemed and that he would easily pull through. But he quickly decided against it. Not only would she see through his deception the moment he opened his mouth, but he respected her too much to lie about something so important.

"It's bad," he answered truthfully.

He saw her façade shatter ever so slightly as the reality struck her. Fear and sadness openly ran across her face and she took a deep breath as if to steel herself. She nodded with the information and without a word took a seat in one of the chairs lined against the wall.

Steve joined her shortly after and wordlessly they waited.

* * *

Silence stretched on from there as the hours continued to snail by. Steve felt a whim of déjà vu from a few months ago as he and Natasha sat in a silent waiting in a medical wing. But this time was also different. The air was heavier, more burdened. It bore down on the both of them, threatening to crush them underneath its weight.

Steve's eyes wandered to Natasha's face, scanning her closed-off features, and then they fell to her neck. Her fingers were idly fiddling with the small arrow pendant on her silver necklace. He had noticed her wearing the piece of jewelry on some of the solo missions they had had together after Slovakia while Clint recovered. Funny enough, he had noted, she never wore it while Clint had been around.

"You seem to wear that a lot," Steve quietly pointed out as he nodded towards the necklace. The question was clear in his remark.

Natasha didn't shift in her position or even stop touching the delicate-looking jewelry. Instead a small smile ghosted across her red lips and in a soft voice she stated, "I always carry him with me."

Steve couldn't help the smile that crossed his own lips and broke out on his face; the first real one in many days. He shook his head as he breathed a slight laughter.

Despite the pair was supposed to be the best assassins the world had to offer, they were remarkably obvious.

 **TBC**


	13. I Wanna Save That Light

**Title:** Blood on My Name

 **Chapter title:** I Wanna Save That Light

 **Author's Note:** So only a few more chapters to go! Hope you enjoy this one and please leave a review when you're done, thanks!

 **Disclaimer:** All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

It was six hours more before they received any news on Clint. Two hours on top of that before they were actually allowed to see him. And even then it had turned out to be a brief affair.

Steve and Natasha had been led down a few corridors, turning left then right before stopping in front of a large rectangular plexiglass window. Steve had felt his heart skip a beat when he looked inside. The room was blacked out with only a dulled night-light illuminating the figure lying on top of the bed. Clint was only covered by a thin baby-blue blanket from the waist down. The dotted hospital-issued gown covered most of his chest and disrupted their view of the many, thick bandages that were wrapped tightly around his midsection. His hair was flattened with sweat that also glistened on his forehead. Bright blue ice packs lay around his head to try and keep down his temperature. His face was slack and his eyes were clenched shut. The worst part of it was the loud ventilator that was connected to the tube, which had been forced down his throat and held in place in his mouth by medical tape.

Steve swallowed the sudden lump that formed in his throat and licked his dry lips. It was a sight he would never forget and he felt the weary fear emerge with renewed strength from the pit of his stomach. It grabbed a firm hold of his heart.

He felt Natasha stiffen next to him as she stared into the room. Almost hesitantly, she placed her hand on the window as if Clint would feel her presence through the glass. She pressed her fingers harder against the window like she tried to faze through the material and enter the room to be next to him.

"I'm so sorry, Clint," she muttered. Her voice was so low the only reason Steve heard it was because of his enhanced hearing. He wondered if she had forgotten he was right there beside her and that they weren't alone.

Finally being able to see Clint and knowing he was out of surgery wasn't the consolation Steve had thought it would be. Because the news that followed with it was far from comforting. The infection had spread to most of Clint's body and despite draining away the pus and whatever else nasty bacteria were roaming around he was still far from out of the woods. His body was weak and fatigued and fighting extremely hard to keep the infection at bay. His heart had stopped twice on the operating table and the second time it had taken the medical personnel a lot longer to bring him back. A fact Steve hadn't really needed to hear. Neither was the following statement from the leading doctor, who told him it was expected Clint would go into cardiac arrest at least a few more times before this ordeal would be over. And each time it would take just a little longer to force his heart beating again. Steve heard a lot of medical words such as sepsis and necrotizing fasciitis, all of which was something he was not happy to hear. They couldn't really tell them anything else. It was all up to the archer to fight this and the next 24 hours would be crucial to determine if he lived or not.

Truth was that the more he was told about Clint's condition the more he felt the fear tighten its grip on his heart.

He was scared for what the days would bring. And he could tell Natasha was too. She didn't voice it, but she didn't need to. It was painted clear on her face.

They weren't allowed to stay more than 5 minutes by the window as Clint needed to rest. They were soon whisked away and despite a cold stare from Romanoff, they hadn't been convinced to let them stay.

They didn't go far though. Natasha placed herself in the exact same chair she had been waiting in only half an hour before. There she settled in for the remainder of the night. Steve didn't hesitate in joining her. So he tried to fold his tall frame into the hard chair to wait for the morning to come.

* * *

They were allowed inside of Clint's room the following day.

Natasha waltzed straight in there and within a second she was by the unconscious archer's side. She didn't touch him. Instead she pulled up one of the plush chairs so it was right next to his bedside. She curled up in it and stared searchingly at his face. Steve didn't know what she was looking for. Perhaps some kind of sign or code that would let her know Clint would pull through. But he remained completely impassive to the world and her searching gaze.

Up close, Clint looked even worse. It was easy to spot the dark smudges underneath his eyes that stood out in his grey face. Though his entire body seemed tense and coiled, a habit he apparently never let go off even in unconsciousness, his face was lax and relaxed. He looked as if a great burden had been removed from his shoulders and he could finally rest. Steve could only hope that it would translate if Clint woke up - _when_ Clint woke up.

He realized he was still standing awkwardly in the doorway, so he moved closer and took a seat on the other side of Clint's low hospital bed. He didn't pull the chair closer; it felt like he was intruding on the two assassins' personal space. So instead he just leaned back into the backrest of the chair, the furniture much more comfortable than the one in the waiting room. For the next hour both Steve and Natasha just sat there in what seemed like a stasis. The only sound shared where the uncomfortably obvious whoosh of the ventilator that erupted every time it forced a breath down Clint's throat and the beeping heart monitor, which spiked every now and then as Clint's heart struggled to keep the steady pace.

Steve stretched out the kinks in his back the best he could manage with one arm immobilized against his chest and it was only then his eyes fell to the pair of handcuffs that circled Clint's limp wrist and the bed-railing. He felt anger burning deep inside of his chest and new-found hatred rising up from the pit of his heart. In all his concern for Clint's life he had completely forgotten about the man who bore the fault for putting him there. Now that he did, Steve cursed Andrew Coleman for everything he had put Clint through. Not just the past few days but all the missions that went wrong because of Coleman's thirst for revenge. There was no telling what damage the politician had done over the years and he doubted neither the archer nor Natasha would share that information. But it must have been hell, looking over your shoulder for all those years, always wondering when something went wrong if it had been coincidence or not.

Without thinking, Steve's fingers drifted towards his pocket and they started fidgeting with the circular recorder, which rested there. He hadn't given it much thought and shamefully he realized he had completely forgotten about the precious recording that Clint had gone to great lengths to obtain.

He took it out and turned it around in his hand, staring at it intently. When he looked up he saw Natasha's eyes rested on him and the small device resting between his fingers. For awhile they maintained eye contact, while Steve debated inside his mind what he should do. The decision was made easily and quickly.

He tossed the recorder over to Natasha. Without missing a beat, she caught it and inspected the busted device closely.

"It's Andrew Coleman's confession. On tape," Steve quietly explained. "Clint made sure he got as much as he needed to put that bastard away for life."

"Good," Natasha answered. "He always does."

Steve could swear he heard a hint of pride hiding somewhere in her rough, steady voice. The promise that the recording would be delivered to the right hands didn't need to be voiced.

He leaned back into his chair and took a deep breath, letting it out with a heavy sigh. It felt like he could finally relax again. "Please tell me not every mission is going to be like this," he breathed.

Natasha turned her attention back to the archer in the bed and only shrugged nonchalantly. "We try making it a habit not to."

"Yeah? How's that been working out for you?" Steve raised an eyebrow at her, challenging.

She turned her green eyes toward him again. "So far nothing's killed us."

Steve saw her full belief that she intended that to continue. And to that he could only nod.

* * *

Natasha Romanoff was never any good at sitting still. She could be patient; sitting non-moving, waiting for hours on end until the right time to strike at a target.

But remaining motionless when all she had to do was wait until she knew if her whole world would come crashing down around her … That was unbearable.

Whenever she stretched her tired body, she felt the crack echo all the way down her spine. She had been cooped up in that hospital chair for far too long now. But no matter how tired she got of staying stationary, how restless or bored, she could never get up and leave.

For eight days, she had been confined to that damned chair. For eight days, she had been living in a constant haze of numbing fear.

Eight days.

Eight days since Clint and Steve had returned. Eight days since Clint had come back, barely alive.

He was still hanging on, despite what the medical personnel had said to her. As always, he was fighting till the very last breath and sticking the odds right where they belonged.

At first she had been fearful to leave his side. She found herself wondering if the moment she stepped away, Clint's heart would stop its steady beating and give up. She would leave and then he would disappear straight through her hands. Instead she opted to stay by his side and whenever she couldn't be, she made sure Steve would. He needed to know that she would be waiting for him and hauling his ass back to the living, if that was what he needed.

Eventually she did overcome her irrationality. She allowed herself bigger breaks from staying vigilant by his side, taking showers and napping in her own quarters. And it was only when she was confident enough he wouldn't die if she slipped away for some hours that she had gone to Fury with the recording device in hand. She had listened to it. She had heard Coleman confessing every little thing he had done over the years, how he had almost killed them both and several others in his thirst for revenge. She had also heard every grunt Clint didn't manage to cover and the pain laced deep in his voice, though he hid it well in front of the vindictive bastard.

Natasha was there personally to escort Andrew Coleman from his temporary holding quarters. He had been placed there as a formality until they figured out the truth. Or that was what they told him to make him comply. In truth, it had been to make sure he stayed put and didn't scatter off to some dark corner of the world while Fury and the rest of SHIELD who believed in Clint's innocence searched for the final proof to nail that bastard to the wall. And the recording had managed to do just that. Natasha felt a deep sense of pleasure in seeing Coleman get tossed in to a small cell, where the only thing to sit on was a thin sleeping cot. She had been sitting inside one of those too, a long time ago. It hadn't bothered her much; there were so many other things to worry about she hadn't given the actual cell a second thought. But she imagined that compared to what the scumbag was used to, the prison cell would prove to be extremely uncomfortable. And she enjoyed that thought immensely.

She could only hope that Clint would pull through to see it for himself. She knew it had haunted him for a long time and she wanted so deeply to show him the nightmare was finally over. That they could move past all of it.

He had improved some, she knew. The ventilator had been shut off and the tube pulled from his throat yesterday to be replaced by a simple oxygen mask. But he remained utterly unresponsive still and no matter how much she begged or threatened him, Clint wouldn't react. And it was terrifying. And it made her angry. So angry she wanted to throw someone through a wall, preferably Coleman, but she wasn't allowed to go near him for obvious reasons. Steve, despite his well-meaning nature, tended to be the closest target. She would perhaps never really do it, but the temptation was running strongly through her hands from time to time. And he had no longer felt like wearing the sling that immobilized his arm, so she wouldn't be punching an invalid either.

Many who crossed paths with the Black Widow would find her to be coldhearted and cruel. And often, on the surface, they would be right. Everyone in the Black Widow Program had been trained to shut down any and all emotions. Things like compassion and guilt could compromise missions easily and the Red Room wanted perfect killers, not people. But Natasha Romanoff who hid deeply underneath all that hadn't been able to shut it down. She knew deep down that what they were doing was wrong. She knew she wasn't a coldblooded killer and that she didn't need to be, simply because the Red Room told her to.

And Clint had been the first person to see that. He was the first one to see past the monster they had created and forced her to be. He saw her as Natasha Romanoff. And he saved her. And he continued to save her again and again in their partnership, in both the little things he did and the big, stupid decisions he tended to make. Natasha found herself starting to save him just as much and prided herself on that fact. But that first time he saved her, the first time he spared her life and took a bullet meant for her … that is the time she will never be able to repay. Something she could never wipe out from her red-dripping ledger.

Seeing him now, lying in front of her yet miles beyond her reach, hurt more than she would ever care to admit, because this time were was absolutely nothing she could do to save him.

And that scared her.

 **TBC**


	14. This is My Kingdom Come

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Chapter title** : This is My Kingdom Come

 **Author's Note** : Oh my god, I am so sorry it took me this long to update! The story is even sitting finish here in my computer yet I just hadn't had the time to publish … Occasionally I forgot and then exams, a broken wrist and no internet connection sorta came out of nowhere but I have not forgotten about this story! I am posting this chapter now and in a few days I will post the final chapter to any of you who still keep track of this story! Again, I'm sorry and if anyone is still reading this; I am so sorry and you guys are awesome!

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer** : All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

Steve's boots clanked loudly on the flooring as he stalked down towards the empty, gray hall with fast determined steps.

It wasn't long before he found himself in front of the door that led to the detention level. He took a deep, calming breath and steeled himself the best he could before the door swished open and he was greeted by one heavily-armed guard. He didn't need to identify himself; the man only nodded his head and muttered a "Captain Rogers" before he pivoted on his heel and started escorting Steve down the dimly-lit hall. They passed several cell blocks, a few containing men he had never seen before, before they eventually found themselves in front of the right one. It was simple built, just as gray and monotone as the rest of them.

"Just holler when you're done," the SHIELD guard informed him before he turned and headed back to his post.

Steve only nodded his thanks without turning his attention away from the person slouched inside the prison cell.

Andrew Coleman looked up from whatever thoughts occupied his mind when he felt the presence staring at him through the glass in the iron door. His clothes had been changed to a simple shirt and trousers, a completely different look than what he had before. The right side of his face was purpling and swollen. His eyes had been full of anticipation but changed to shameful at the sight of Captain America standing in front of him.

Steve himself wasn't surprised by the response. At the end of the day, the man hadn't been looking to hurt other people, only Clint. He simply hadn't thought or cared about who he dragged down in the process. But the stark image of the archer fighting for his life a few floors above him was enough to disperse any sympathy he could hold for the man.

"Captain Rogers … I didn't expect to see you here," Coleman said. He tried to keep his voice steady, but it was easy to uncover that fear underneath.

"No. I bet you didn't," Steve muttered. The urge to slap the older man across the face was stronger than he anticipated, so he was glad there were a piece of bullet-proof glass in-between them. Besides that wasn't the reason for his visit. But it was satisfying to see him squirm uncomfortably.

"So why are you here?" Coleman asked, hesitantly.

"I came here to ask why."

Coleman seemed to sag inwards as the energy left him and he looked away. "You know why."

"No. You faced a terrible loss, but that doesn't give you an excuse to hurt innocent people," Steve sternly retaliated. It angered him that somehow bad people always found excuses for their horrible actions. There was always a reason why and no matter what that might be, it certainly wasn't their fault. Funnily, it seemed it never was.

"You truly believe Agent Barton is innocent?" Spite crawled back into Coleman's voice as he straightened up.

"He's done things in his past I know he's not proud of. But I also know the man he is now doesn't deserve whatever hell you've been trying to put him in."

Coleman rose from his sleeping cot and approached the glass with firm, angry steps. "That lowlife _murdered_ my only child and you think he deserves to walk away from it?" he spat. "Did he tell you how he did it? Did he tell you that he put an arrow in my boy's neck and then left him there, bleeding out in his own home, for me to find?

"That man is a monster. He is the devil walking among us. And you think he deserves to live?"

"I don't think that decision's up to you. And it certainly doesn't give you the right to hurt other people in the process," Steve said and crossed his arms, hiding the wince as it pulled painfully at his healing broken arm. He wasn't intimidated by Coleman standing so close to him, even if there hadn't been a ward in form of a steel door between them. "If you wanted to kill him so badly, why didn't you just do it? Why go through all that trouble? From what I gather you managed to involve a lot of people too in this crazy vendetta."

"I wanted him to suffer like I did. So when I found out someone could actually _care_ about that worm, I knew I could strike him where it hurt the most. I would destroy his world; make him watch it crumble before his very eyes. And only then would I end his life," Coleman said through clenched teeth. As the conversation dragged on, he only got more agitated and, it seemed, more vindictive and vicious.

Steve could only look at him in surprise as the poisonous words left Coleman's mouth. So far he had only seen him react out of blind grief. This was the first time he truly saw what Andrew Coleman was like underneath the surface and how much his vendetta drove him towards outrageous ideas. For the first time he felt the slightest hint of alarm of what this man was actually capable of doing. And with that alarm came also anger. Steve felt angry, suddenly, that this pitiful man before him was too weak to let go of his spite. This man had been too weak to face the loss that a lot of people, particularly in this line of work, faced.

He thought of Bucky and how much he missed his best friend. His heart constantly ached at his death. Peggy was still here in this modern world, but she was also slipping away from him like sand slipping through his fingers, day by day, and that only added to the hurt and despair. But he would never in his life use that as an excuse to put innocent lives in danger. And that was exactly why he felt no sympathy towards that man at all.

He leveled a glare at Andrew Coleman and to his delight saw the smaller man twitch uncomfortably and back away. "Let me tell you something. You are not the only one in this world to suffer. You're not the only one who has known loss. All around the world, someone is grieving and someone is hurt. People may get damaged along the way, but they pick themselves up.

They put themselves back together and push through. Clint Barton is one of those people. He's overcome everything you and everybody else has thrown at him. He's a stronger and better man than you will ever be. So get over yourself."

Steve knew he had won when Coleman had nothing to retaliate with. He simply lowered his gaze to the floor, seemingly at some kind of war with himself, and Steve couldn't help the satisfactory smirk that spread across his face and he didn't try to stop it either. That man deserved everything he got and now Clint had made sure he could never hurt another living soul again.

Steve quickly retreated after that, leaving Coleman alone with his despairing thoughts and consuming, blind anger.

* * *

Natasha was in a catatonic state, stuck somewhere between racing thoughts and sleep, her eyes open but unseeing. She had been staring into nothingness for the past hour without even a twitch. What she was thinking of, she couldn't tell.

Which was why she almost missed it.

She almost missed the feel of fingers that ghosted across her hand that had been placed on top of Clint's. The slight twitch of his limp trapped underneath hers. It tore her completely out of her daze and her sharp eyes trained directly at the archer next to her.

What she found almost made her heart leap out of her chest. A pair of gray eyes was peeking out from barely open eyelids. He blinked sluggishly at her and it seemed it took a lot of effort to reopen his eyes whenever they closed involuntarily.

"Clint?" Natasha tried as she scooted closer.

"Nat …" he rasped slowly in response. His voice was low and throaty from lack of use and the oxygen mask muffled it even more, but the word was unmistakable.

Natasha smiled at him. It was a smile that she reserved only for a few people and rarely got to use. She grabbed a stronger hold of his hand, letting him know that she was there. Relief flowed through her as she felt his fingers tighten the best they could in return. For awhile they did nothing but look at each other as Clint slowly grew more lucid.

It took half an hour before he managed to open his eyes completely. Though they were un-focused and moving haggardly around, they also shined with vigilance. Eventually they fell back on Natasha and turned apprehensive.

He mumbled something incomprehensible, his tired words swallowed up by the oxygen mask that covered his nose and mouth. Natasha quickly helped him move it away so it rested on his chest, nearby in case he suddenly needed it.

"Coleman?" he then whispered.

"Stuck pondering his poor decisions for the rest of his pitiful little life," Natasha smugly announced. Relief seemed to spread like water spilling over paper across his face as the news settled in. She let him have the moment a little longer, let him come to terms with what the sentence actually meant, not just for him but for the both of them.

"The Council needed a lot of convincing," she continued then. "They've never particularly taken a liking to neither Fury nor you - or me for that matter - but once Nick presented them with the recording you got, there wasn't much they could argue with. They're still arguing whether or not to issue the kill order on him."

"If they do, I want to be the one to pull the trigger," Clint bitterly muttered.

"You didn't kill him," Natasha stated. "At the safe house."

"No. That's not who I am anymore."

"No it's not. And it never really was," Natasha shrugged. Then she raised a questioning eyebrow at him. "But you don't mind putting an arrow in him when it's sanctioned?"

Clint shrugged his own shoulder at the best of his ability, which was hardly noticeable. "Wouldn't lose any sleep over it."

"I don't think even Captain America would lose any sleep over it," Natasha said.

A realization seemed to strike down on the archer as his eyes widened slightly and his body tensed. "Steve? Is he okay?"

"He's fine. Worried about you, like we all were."

She made sure he heard just how much he had actually managed to scare her this time.

"I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely. He hated to scare her like that, Natasha knew. Just like she hated to scare him when it had been the other way around.

She pushed the apology away with a flick of her wrist like it didn't matter, even though it did. Then she made sure she had eye contact so he knew what she was about to say mattered more than anything else.

"I'm proud of you, Clint."

Clint seemed to scrutinize her face as he took in her words. When he saw she was sincere, he smiled brightly at her and his thumb gently ran across her hand. The appreciation of her words didn't need to be said; it shined clearly in his bright eyes.

"Well, I had help with it," Clint whispered fondly. Then his voice got lighter and he suddenly smirked. "You know, Cap's starting to get the hang of this spy thing. I think I might request him for the next mission. Somehow it just works out better. Besides the outfit doesn't hurt."

Natasha rolled her eyes at his remark and slapped him on the arm as hard as she dared. She shook her head.

"You're an idiot, you know that right?"

"You know you wouldn't love me if I was anything less."

 **TBC**


	15. Epilogue

**Title** : Blood on My Name

 **Chapter title** : Epilogue

 **Author's Note** : As promised, the final chapter. Thank you so much to those who have supported this story in form of reviews, favorite, following and all that jazz! You guys rock! Enjoy this final one!

 **Disclaimer:** All rights go to Marvel, Disney and whoever else is lucky enough to have a part in the glorious MCU and its characters!

* * *

 _Three months later_

Clint ran his fingers gently across his bow as it rested in his lap. He sat on his bed in his quarters, all of his things pulled out from their trunks and scattered across the room, though aside from weapons it wasn't much. He had meant to pack but stopped short the minute his hands touched his bow.

He traced every single detail engraved in the shiny material and every nick and scrape it had sustained over the years as it had been dragged from one country to another on countless missions. It had followed him ever since he had joined SHIELD. To him it represented everything that agency had done for him; the new beginning, the second chance. It was invaluable and had served him well the past decade. He turned his head to his right where his old bow lay resting on his bed. It wasn't as sturdy as the one he had now but it was from home. He had nicked it the day he left the circus Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders. Despite all the bad memories that place held, it also was the only place Clint could remember that had had any sense of family. That bow was part of his first solo act in front of an audience and it had brought him food on the table when he was alone in the world. Whenever he looked at it he felt a sense of gratitude. But with it came also distaste. That weapon was also what he had used when he had killed people. It was what he had used to kill Kyle Coleman.

He was glad it was over. It was no secret that he felt several pounds lighter and the burden on his heart wasn't quite so heavy any longer. He would still have nightmares. It would still pop up randomly in his head and remind him of what he had done in the past and that would never go away. But he didn't need it too either. It would serve as a healthy reminder of what he had been and what he could never go back to.

He shook his head and drew in a shaky breath.

Now was not the time to think about or regret the past. He had things that needed to be done. He ran a hand over his face tiredly and stood up, his body slightly shaking. He hated that he still felt this weak even though months had passed since he woke up. Every day he got just a little stronger but he still felt the fatigue buried deep within his bones. Minor actions such as taking a walk or shooting his bow at the range left him exhausted. Clint absolutely despised feeling this weak. He knew it was a simple matter of time but it seemed to stretch on forever this time.

A knock interrupted his solitude. "Yeah?" he called.

The door swished open quietly to reveal Captain America standing uneasily in the entrance. With a spike of annoyance and spite, Clint noticed that no cuts or bruises remained after their venture. Steve showed no signs of having had a piece of rebar sticking out of one arm or having the other one fractured by a giant man. Clint knew it was irrational to feel like he did. It wasn't Steve's fault that he had the super soldier serum running through his veins, but it still irritated him that he was still limping about and Steve showed no injuries.

"Hey. Can I come in?" the soldier asked.

"Sure."

Steve entered and the door closed after him but he ended up only a few steps into the room where he just took it all in. A heavy silence stretched on between the two men and Clint suspected Steve would need help with saying what he actually came here to say.

So Clint decided to be the first one to break the silence. "I heard you're heading your own assignment in a few days."

Steve smiled happily as he nodded sheepishly and shrugged his shoulders. "Well, Romanoff's gonna be there to make sure I don't screw up."

"Ah, don't worry about her. She'll be judging you, no matter how you do."

Steve huffed a laugh. "I don't doubt that for a second."

"She'll do it silently though, so you won't even notice she's there," Clint continued and then tilted his head. "Unless of course she starts talking."

"Really? Somehow I can't really imagine Romanoff being the big talker."

"Oh no, that's just a cover. Nat can chew your ear off when she first gets going. Just don't let her plant any ideas in your head," Clint smirked.

"I'll try and remember that," Steve promised with a look of utter disbelief. He looked convinced that Clint was yanking his chain. Clint couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips. If Steve didn't believe him now, he would eventually. If Nat hadn't talked his ear off yet, that meant she was holding out. Any day she would be as open with Steve as she was with him.

He turned his attention back to packing up his stuff. It was only now that he realized he didn't exactly have many personal items to bring with him: a single picture of his circus family - those that hadn't left him dying and whom he still cared about - along with a few handguns and his arsenal of arrows. Small trinkets and memoires, mostly from both Phil and Natasha. Clothes. It didn't exactly take up a whole lot of space.

All the while he could feel Steve's eyes tracking him and he could practically feel the moment Steve sobered and the smile was replaced with a concerned frown. He continued to look on as Clint stuffed more clothing into the duffel bag.

"You leaving?" he gently asked after a few minutes.

Clint stopped what he was doing as his hands grabbed a hold of his beloved bow. He turned in over a few times in his hand, his back turned to Steve.

"I'm …," Clint cleared his throat a single time before he turned around to face the soldier, staring at him softly. "I'm taking a few days. A lot has happened these past few months. I need to clear my head."

He had already had the discussion with Natasha. She had understood his need to get away from everything for awhile. But he had to keep her from coming with him, her reason being that he was unable to keep from running into trouble. Despite her promise not to follow, he still wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't be waiting for him the moment he stepped out of the Triskelion garage with his Ducati bike.

"You know where you're gonna go?"

"No," Clint honestly answered. "I'm just gonna drive and see where that road takes me."

"Sounds like a good plan," Steve nodded.

"I sure hope so. Don't cause too much trouble while I'm gone." Clint grinned.

"I thought that was your department anyway," Steve replied with a raised brow.

"Which is why I want you to stay out of it. You've already snatched my partner. Keep away from the rest of my stuff."

"I'll try my best," Steve chuckled.

The silence threatened to return after that so Clint decided not to give it a chance to fall. He was still holding the black, SHIELD bow in his hands and the decision came quickly and easily. With a breath to steel himself he extended the advanced weapon towards the soldier.

"Will you keep this for me while I'm gone?" he gently asked.

Steve's eyes widened as the gesture struck him. Clint knew what he was thinking. He was handing over one of his most prized possessions. He had never willingly parted with his bow, but he could never leave the one that had shaped everything he was behind. One needed to stay behind in Washington and aside from Natasha, there was no one he would rather have keeping it safe until he returned. Steve accepted the gesture readily and carefully took the bow from his hands, holding it as if it were made of glass.

"It would be my honor."

It ached a little to see his beloved weapon in someone else's hands, but Clint knew it would be there for him when he came back, whenever that was. He looked around in his room and knew there was nothing else to be done. The clenching feeling of trepidation that had been persistent in his chest for the last month flamed up and he knew it was time to leave before he imploded. He needed to find solace if he ever were to return to what things were before.

Clint hoisted up his filled duffel bag and grabbed his old bow from the bed. He turned his attention to the super soldier still standing in the middle of the room, a hint of pride glinting in his eyes, although for what he couldn't tell.

"Keep her safe for me, will you?" Clint said. He didn't need to specify who he was talking about.

"Always," Steve didn't hesitate in his steady answer. "You be careful out there."

Clint gave him a wry smirk. "Don't worry. I have someone to watch my back."

"You know where to find me," Steve promised and extended his hand.

Happy and without hesitation this time, Clint clasped it tightly.

"I do."

 **The End**


End file.
